The clouds were tired of smelling my feet – 
old man legs that swing, swing,
until toes stub the sky –

God's vast blue nostril inhaling
summer's residue and blister,
dead skin of bestsellers litters the beach

OK, no, only my face in the towel bag
huffing sunscreen fumes;
you said it was time to go

For all good things must come to an end,
like Columbus I sail
off the edge of the world

Pull the ripcord and parachute with all the others
in our Chevy Niñas, Pintas, and Santa Marias
down I-95 into Manhattan

Hurricane of returning vacationers,
lightning flash turn signals,
children the howling wind and rain in McDonalds

And you, as always, in the passenger seat
with your movie star face –
oversized sunglasses and bored look

We hang suspended, swaying
from the ends of steel cables on the GW bridge,
close enough now we can smell New Jersey

You say, as you always do:
"Never again. Never."
The dogs need to pee.

The Sunday Muse

15 thoughts on “Swingularity

  1. “I met a friend of mine and he did say/ man, I could smell your feet a mile away” –Paul McCartney “Smile Away”

    The feet! Yoiks. But then this poem about day trip misery bloomed with more fantastic comparisons than I can count. The best sellers, the huffing, the pinned cars, the windy children, the bored movie star face with the –of course!–big sunglasses. Just a feast this is, as pleasurable to read as what it describes is NOT pleasurable. I’m thinking of th3e sand that will keep turning up in weird places for the next two days. Ah well, smile away, cos I am after reading this.

    Liked by 1 person

  2. you weave those visuals so masterly – never overloading the brush but cramming in the images nevertheless:
    “Hurricane of returning vacationers,
    lightning flash turn signals,
    children the howling wind and rain in McDonalds”

    Liked by 1 person

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