I would love to see my former best friend materialize
in that chair, shove my bags to the floor,
raise two fingers.
Sharon, at seventeen, a terrible and holy age,
inhaling boys unconsciously
like perfume.
Sharon, years younger than her fake I.D.,
opens her purse, hands me a lit grenade.
“Take it,” she winks. “It will only glitter for a little while.”
.
Wonderful, Trish! Tom
What a start to my day. That one hits. Just like the lit grenade.
Gyppo
Enjoyed this Trish, love the rebellious spirit, and the image of the glittering grenade.
Thank you, Tom … I’m glad you’re here and looking forward to reading your poems.
Thanks, Gyppo, David … a good start to Sunday morning, knowing you like the poem about my friend Sharon, that it landed.