summer 1979 | just a poem

greetings all - since i can't blog on any topic today and find myself mute in this regard, i send instead a poem, which seems to come more easily these days and hope this will suffice for my contribution for today as i am tired and whatnot and have this to offer for the moment. Hopefully, i will be out of this writing slump in short order; i lost a greal deal in my computer crash, so this is what i have to give for the moment. This is one of my Summer poems, and on a very grey, damp and cold day such as we have here at the moment, it seemed appropriate and that it may lift the spirits a bit.

cheers and greetings to all,

sadi
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It was the summer of ‘79
And the radio played
Baker Street again and again
And our parents hosted
Those parties, to which
We remained uninvited,
Banished to the sidelines
We watched those sparkling
Society ladies all bright
In their silk Puccis while
Their husbands, all grins
as gin clinked in glasses
And summer was full on
And King Crimson told us
We were all “Outta sight”
All lit by Harvest moon
orange and bright. We were
banished to childhood, no
choice but to watch, so
we dove, casting blue-mirrored
crystals that marked
each plunge to the pool
and we broke the light-
ceilinged surface and took
to the warmth of the water
comfort from late summer
chill. Even our parents
Your father, my mother
Cast aside their past differences
Called a truce to their war
We knew later we’d hear them
As they made love to make up,
Our mother’s “Oh, Daddy”,
The slap and the tickle
That later we’d mimic and howl
with the all of it.

It was the summer I took
To the the high board, all fearless
backflips, forward tumbles,
ferocious in youth
You were my fearless protector,
Remember?
All those salt, chlorine nights,
How we cruised the soft boards
Watched the girls on the walk
their Bonne Bell Lipsmackers
on strings about their necks,
their pink shimmer eyeshadow
smooth and winking to the night.
God how I wanted to be them.
A full grown girl, all tits and hips
not a slip of the girl-child I was.
I was the awkward exotic,
Continental and foreign, blonded
And sun-bleached, you sister;
bridging their world and ours,
my new breast swell, perfume smell,
I blushed to the look of any boy.

It was the summer of cricket
Throb, of bicycle rides down
Hollyhocked roads, where bright
Tigerlilies waved and we charged
From the house like prisoners
Granted release and I rode
On your handlebars, perched
There on your Gladiator,
Like a small bird in the moment
Just before it takes flight.

sadi ranson-polizzotti

Article Author: Sadi Ranson-Polizzotti

Sadi Ranson-Polizzotti is a published writer in both the United States and Europe. She is widely known for her music commentary, particularly her writings about Bob Dylan about whom she runs a highly-trafficked site. …

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