In the dark, next to you,
I get a small thrill
when Cagney pushes grapefruit
into the face of the wife.
If you want to be happy, child,
want what you already got,
Grandma told me years before,
her rasp spreading like a stain.
When she’d heave me onto her lap,
clasp her arms across me
like a seatbelt, the smell of lavender
and lilies would rise through roses
all over her one good dress.
Oh, to be the red siren atop a cruiser!
I’d zig-zag through cellophane night town streets,
Copyright 2007 by the Tipton Poetry Journal.
All rights remain the exclusive property of the individual poet and may not be used without their permission.