PostPoems Be Artistic. Be Creative. Be Inspired!

Late afternoon found your Uncle driving

along a rural, narrow two-lane road.

The A.M. radio of his rental

car had been tuned to pop music, and now

played Sammy Johns' catchy song, Chevy Van.

With his keen vision, not diminished by

his age, he saw---seated beside a creek,

a very suntanned, adolescent boy,

whose head was crowned with a profusion of

soft, tight blonde curls that fell quite far below

his bare shoulders.  He wore no shirt or shoes

with his tight denim cut-offs and high socks

(high pink socks that extended to his thighs).

He had been dangling his feet in the creek's

shallow channel---not quite three inches deep.

Your Uncle, the Professor, Doctor [Blanked]

pulled his car up and shut the engine off;

so that he might call to the beautiful

young man.  "Do you need a ride to somewhere?

"This must be a long way from anywhere?"

The boy smiled shyly, and answered, "Yes,

"I think I am need of some wheels."  "Get in,"

your Uncle, the Professor, Doctor [Blanked[

said courteously.  "And what is your name?"

The boy looked at him---he might well have been

like to the male angels once painted by

the Master, Botticelli; or like to

an adolescent surfer on the coast

of California.  "My name, since you asked

"is---well this is my nickname or handle---

"WildStuff among my friends."  "And are you wild?"

queried your Uncle, the Professor; and

WildLeap said, "Anytime I get naked,

"or in bed with a lover who can share

"my private passions."  Then he seemed to blush.

Candor, of course, seemed to be the sole mode

of discourse, back then, in the seventies;

and adolescents are the most candid talkers.