Betrayed in Vegas.
She scratched his seven-year itch.
Cut my nails too short.

April is National Poetry Month so I’ve pledged to write 30 poems this month. Theoretically, that’s one per day but as long as I finish the month with thirty, I’ll consider that a win. Read more about National Poetry Month at the WordPress Blog.

We ducked inside the tent
and wriggled into our tiny swimsuits,
still wet from this morning’s swim
and somewhat unwilling to be worn.

We shoved our toes into
last year’s tennis shoes,
worn out at the heels
and open at the toes.

We bounced toward the water’s edge,
leaving Mama and her friend alone
with their bottles of baby oil laced with iodine
and hard packs of Virginia Slims.

We had an inner tube,
pulled from a real tire and
pool floats purchased
yesterday at TG&Y.

I’d never been kissed,
never hit a home run,
and never had a dog for a best friend.

But there were no snakes in the Tennessee,
the sun didn’t cause cancer and
hot dogs had no calories.

I don’t recall agreeing
to a trade like that and am nearly certain
I would have taken my chances
with the snakes.
But then again,
I do love my dog…

April is National Poetry Month so I’ve pledged to write 30 poems this month. Theoretically, that’s one per day but as long as I finish the month with thirty, I’ll consider that a win. Read more about National Poetry Month at the WordPress Blog.