Days roll into limp cigarettes hung from a torn smile,
Coughing shade from flowered lungs
With sulfuric flourishes.
The sweet rub of match.
Temptation stained thumbs.
The tilted season leans its heavy shoulder
Into the crook of spring.
Greased hair, plain white tee, flicking ash,
Daring the wind to ignite.
Drag racing with the forked tongue lot,
The silent serpents hidden in 14-karat grass,
Bladed beauties, luminous skin in bold patterns,
Distracting the eye with nubile flare.
What did mama sing over the sizzle of eggs?
Red touch yellow, kills a fellow
Red touch black, a friend of Jack
But Jack was nimble; he was quick.
He changed his colors in a season, grew five inches,
Lost his boyhood looks, morphed into stone to
Prey upon the girls of summer,
Scatter their hearts like blackbirds
Just to watch a glass collision,
Falling for mirages and heady desires.
His hands found their shoulders,
Massaged the muscles along their delicate bones,
His cold blood pumping,
Working well in the heat.
Posturing, he went for the runt of the neighborhood
Who had blossomed into coral perfection.
But she remembered the taunts of yesterday
When he gave her the slip,
Folding into shadows,
Watching the man-made lakes expose bathing lines,
Ringed history rubbed into rocks,
Slipping out of their silted suits
With greedy evaporation.
And she struck him in one fine leap.