June is an old neighbor, ambling yet again
through our home-storied streets, verdant brush,
sun-soaked shoulders against the hedges, I
extend behind me an open palm at
some sidewalk’s narrow, so you take it,
sunshower lover, we are drunk
on the amber rays, on a rinse of beer, I
hand you a watermelon candy, bright idea,
so we kiss, breaking apart to
grin at the cinema of it, the flavor of
a day with no agenda, neon pink,
without apology.
Shakespeare breaks out in the bar,
so we all shout huzzah, we marvel
at the magic, midsummer nights
in iambic pentameter, I whisper the
secret in your ear: You can only understand
when you let yourself feel it without asking
questions, and we laugh, fall to
ribbons, as you confess you still
don’t get it.
Wander we through the slopes
of Forest Park, no sweat, I have
wanted for days like this, and
our feet know these pathways, so
we are free to improvise our
soliloquies, each of us a Mercutio
who refused to go to his grave
making light of his wounds for the
sake of others, lover, we are
far too romantic for such romance,
sturdy is the build of our devoted
palms, pentameter be damned,
watermelon bright, June just one
among the company we keep.
michael king 