A poem

Childhood inspires me.

 

Portrait of a Girl With a Basketball

There was a gym with a tile floor

and two doors

and the noisy collisions of sneaker-clad firecrackers,

attitude bouncing off tired walls

louder than its air-filled counterparts.

 

There was a girl with a pink shirt

and two braids trying to reach it

and a basketball bouncing

suffused with determination

up and down

up and

down

towards her sneakers.

 

There were shadows lengthening on tired walls,

and the two doors kept getting closer

like the girl’s two braids

reaching past her pink-shirted shoulders

and there was a basketball

wishing for yesterday,

when her sneakers didn’t seem

so far away. 

A contemplation of coffee

 Sometimes I’m a bit of a romantic.

 

Coffee Sometime

Let’s do coffee sometime,

find some quaint establishment

with a shingled roof and one-of-a-kind windows

that look out onto the wizened street

and all its rain puddles.

I’ll have a Foggy London,

and you’ll tell me that’s not coffee.

Then, to prove your point,

you’ll order a cup straight from the grinder

with no sugar,

surprising even me.

We’ll settle ourselves down

my elbows resting on the too-small table,

you shrugging into your chair,

which tilts to one side,

just a little.

The sun’s soft glow will travel slowly

from my hands to yours,

lingering when it reaches your smile–

even the sun is jealous of your smile–

and you won’t check your watch until

the last of the light has melted

from the windowpane.

Planning a roadtrip

Not too long ago I came across this website full of amazing futuristic travel ads to places like the Moon and Kepler-186f.

Naturally this led to the planning of a “road” trip with a friend, set (tentatively) for next summer.

 

Tin Moon

You might call this a road trip,

except for that one missing crucial element,

the road.

The thing is, roads become superfluous

when Major Tom has lent you his famous tin can,

freshly painted after its long voyage

and eager to make another.

 

If the path to Jupiter

happened to be paved with cement

and dotted with multicolored signs,

this would be exactly like a road trip,

but as it is, we just have to make do.

You provide the soundtrack

with your trusty ukulele (if you can hold on to it).

A jaunty tune for when

we streak right past our moon,

a melancholy one for when it no longer appears

in the rear-view mirror.

 

After a while, our vessel settles into orbit

alongside its fellow satellites,

Io and Thebe, Ganymede.

We brought no flagpoles for claim-staking.

Rather, empty portholes to fill

with the sight of a Jupiter-sized light show.