Aisle 3

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Poetry  |  House: Booksie Classic
...when my kiss strayed there,lingered there...

Submitted: April 15, 2009

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Submitted: April 15, 2009

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Aisle 3
 
I followed you
the lusty uncertainty of youth
harmonising with your
wild, fragile melody
down that reckless goat-track
from our hilltop
to the harbour of fathers and mothers
 
Your legs
thin, brown
and bare.
I was both king and shell-shocked refugee –
you’d stroked my head, my face
when my kiss
strayed there
lingered there
 
what power I gave you,
the fine golden
hair
each whispering strand
a bible of erotica
chronicling my passions, insecurities,
jealousy and desperation
 
but you grew old too fast –
the idea of ‘grown up’ ponderous
like a freight train
way off
 groaning and growling up an incline
gave way to warning bells.
You sauntered through the café
one night
and the engine thundered past
 
I’ve been back up
In the hills
these past ten years.
I see you now and then
tattoo brazenly fingering down your pants
as you stoop to
gather organic seeds and plums
in Aisle 3.
Children who could be mine
helpfully fill the trolley
the youngest, strapped to your breast
with a Balinese scarf
 
It amazes me
how your eyes still shine
splashed with mystery and adventure.
But I’m a boy remembering a song
bamboo flute for the sheep and goats
aware
somehow
I’ll always be too young.
 


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