While I was pondering inside my pages,
Kim was out climbing trees,
escaping from her mom’s breakdowns.
No time for her to wonder, who is Kim?
She dragged me away from printed worlds,
to ride our bikes to the 7-Eleven
where slurpees and ten-cent candy bars
satisfied our sugar addiction.
We’d play in the woods next to my house,
darting through groves of old trees.
No predatory humans back then;
we could roam where we pleased.
Then there was Star Trek; ah, the 60s.
She told me of space and technology,
of Capt. Kirk, Mr. Spock, Dr. McCoy,
And mini-skirted green-skinned alien girls!
but it was not enough to watch the show,
we had to dress in knit tops and pants,
and go boldly forth into unknown lands,
where manhole covers were transporter pads.
After puberty, Kim led the way, as always,
informing my late-blooming self
about social institutions like French kissing;
saved me from a faux-pas on that first date.
Kim was my flaxen-haired alter ego,
my action balance, my social guide,
in a childhood where I seemed
the dark haired stranger in an alien world.
This poem was changed from my standard capitalized quatrains to tercet style, thanks to Luke Prater, who gave a wonderful critique and suggestions during dVerse Pub’s Crit Friday. Thanks, Luke! I love the flow of this method for this story!
Submitted to dVerse Poets Pub for their Tuesday OpenLinkNight. Go, share, read and appreciate poets in a great community.