Poem: Summerland

Hand in hand;

Standing by the waste bin,

Looking for a foul play-

A game of chess-

A rest-

I thought it would be more poetic than this.

 

Standing by the waste-bin.

Back of the cafeteria, I saw-

Not saw, stared, aware-

Of the girl I had cared for;

But was mine no more.

 

The waste-bin was full of candlesticks-

Had been on the fireplace;

And music filled the house, like grace-

I knew my place with her hand in my hand;

and longed to go back to Summerland.

 

A place ineffable, indefinably pure-

And I could see it no more;

My memory saw it in a moving image;

It masked the tin lid near the waste-bin-

Where I sat as she walked past.

 

It was summer after all-

No time for candlesticks and magic tricks,

Of love and lust or a gust of wind-

Though it was already the past-

I put the lid on the waste-bin-

And waited for Summerland anew to begin.

It never did.

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