Three Poems Written on a Train From Rockport to Boston

Three Poems Written on a Train From Rockport to Boston

I

Thinking

I walked along a rocky Atlantic beach,

wet sands under my worn shoe,

            and my mind drunk on thoughts of you.

November’s cool raw beauty blows over my face this morning as I take this constitutional,

            and the scents of sea salt

and of your hair

mingle on my nostrils

And as a blue sky begins to clear over the beach

I am thinking of my returning to you.

            We are two almost within reach.

 

II

Thought

 

And in my drunkenness do my thoughts turn to you.

            Happily and innocently, as a terrier to its owner.

And while the night is a waste without us together,

            how my thoughts remain steadfast on your heart.

 

III

And I can now

 

With a gray sky over head,

and trees aflame in November,

will I hope to find us together someday.

            Because New England is the romantic engine of Autumn. 

                        And I can now smell the wet leaves in the air;

                        And I can now smell your fine black hair;

                        And now can I smell all my cares

                                    fleeting as we embrace .

Call Me Juvenile

Call me juvenile,

but I cannot wait to celebrate the end of a presidency that dictated my malleable youth

while beckoning in a new which will glorify it.

I am drinking early this election day,

a toast to the last of naivety,

welcoming in responsibility.

Call me juvenile,

but I cannot wait to celebrate tonight with you.

To reassure myself that this world is geared in the right direction.

To tell myself that we are the happiest people in this Atlantic city.

I am drinking early this election day,

a toast to the last of naivety,

welcoming brighter days, warmer relationships, and truthful love.

I will drink it down bitterly, because those cold days will not go down without a fight, those curmudgeons,

 but I will love every ounce.