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Phyllis Green

 

 

Lake Springfield During a Bad Boy Phase

 

Of all the bad boys I loved,

only you had access to a convertible.

Yellow, with the top down.

Coming back to town, let' er rip.

My thigh stung where you squeezed. 

Burning scooted me so close

you damnear hit the wrong pedal.

 

Early lie:  "Swim?  You kiddin'?"

Guess who didn't make it to the buoy.

But you butterflying out to haul me to shore

copping a feel under the water

made me cancel the lesson at the Y.

The lake was busy copping more.

But now we're in The Car.

 

Correction, on.

Finally drew the short match

so I've crawled to the back to fly

and howl at car-made wind

It's time for a chicken race.

Nothing feels as good as being blind

because hair is whipping across your face.

Showing forbidden skin, and feeling

sand working its way up inside.

Laughing, you spin the dial

so the music can roar.  Don't slow!

Then our song will keep bringing out the gold

in a sun that  wants to pale with rage

and record humidity.

No trash will work its way between.

Our skin won't peel.

Boys will be bad just for us.

 

&&~~&&~~&&~~ &&~~ &&~~ &&~~ &&~~~>>

 

 

No Lemonade from This

 

Just when I think we're in gear,

you shift.  When we talk,

when we eat, when we fuck.

Hitting Reverse doní count!

For variety, you might just try

upping it a notch~?.

 

Ever think about a stick shift~?

 

Call this driving if you want.

"Stall, cough, stall."

Looks like it's time to walk.

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~>>>>>>+>>>>>>>>

 

Parachuting from Funeral Hill                       

 

Forget  all  that and remember

Being brother and sis.

Look at us, Jane.  Look at us, Dick.

We are hopping across the street

so we won't get blisters.

Shoes, what are they~?

 

This side is for yelling

You never count right!   Uh-HUH!

The sidewalk is marked off in squares.

Fifteen squares will take us to the bottom

of the hill where we like to creep up

to the house where dead people go.

You always want to know

if squares with broken corners count.

You broke them!   Put rocks

in your wagon ~ duh.  

 

Grown-ups say sidewalks fry eggs, ha.

Start over:  1,2,3,4,6, [bicker] 5, 6,

7,9,10 [bicker] 8,9,10

11, l2,l3,14,FIFTEEN!!

Ants don't count because they are busy

being copycats.  You STEPPED on one!

Liiiiiiiiiiar.   Liiiiiiiiiiiiiiiar.  Nuh-UH!  

Mother's back will break, so there.

 

The girl was big, so she stretched first

to see the house with the sign and shutters.

L-o-o-o-ng black car

dead people rode to the cemetery in.

Then both of us wiggled our toes

in grass  getting greener near the house

to get tickled lying down.

Dandelion parachutes are best.

 

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