My Poetry

Shots were fired in Dallas three years before I was born one of the Baby Busters middle child misfit too young for Studio 54 too old for a mosh pit. Raised on a steady diet of television and Tang. Vietnam was a series of black & white images while drawing with crayons. Watergate was background noise while eating TV dinners. Lying on our bellies chins resting in our hands we waited every Sunday for Tinkerbell to let us in to Disney’s wonderful world. We carried The Force in our back pockets and lived the Wonder Years on a white Huffy with the banana seat- nobody had a helmet everybody had a latchkey. After school we watched the Brady Bunch dreamed of Walton's Mountain and grieved for the perfect family. We never wore saddle shoes or poodle skirts nose rings or bellybutton things. Individuality was our conformity.  We were there when Disco drew its last breath and gave birth to  the MTV Generation. We saw the Berlin Wall crumble like Jericho and watched the Gulf War from a comfor

"ain’t no doubt about it we were doubly blessed ‘cause we were barely seventeen and we were barely dressed.”                        *                        *                        *                        * The radio played in the darkness of his mom’s garage. He stood before me and stuck out his tongue to make me giggle. “I didn’t do nothin’” he told me and stuck it out again. He pressed me against the washing machine before moving his lips over my neck in a series of kisses each of them  sparked something unknown and primal something older than words something envied by oceans. My fingers tingled with their own fire  they tugged and squeezed and pulled him close. Skin to skin was not close enough. He led me into the backyard where fingertips and lips flickered and sparked flint striking pyrite over and over until the fire caught.    On a blanket concealed by a willow we burned until morning. ________________________________________ Lyrics to Paradise by the Dashboard Light Com