(one third of) The One that Got Away |
Damien Farley
smile from across the rooftop
wave, as if not jolted
bend down to pick up
a discarded cigarette still burning
within a gap in the Jenkinson’s boardwalk
smoldering and knowing it could be right
despite any words on paper
get back there while you search for sleep
explore turns you might’ve taken
I would’ve slow-danced with you
had the tempo or my adolescent-self allowed
but instead, I’m just a boy
on a beach or on a bicycle
circling Spring Lake
not proven to myself, and not a father
you dance, don’t you?
as you did
to Bowie or George Michael
in your upstairs teenaged bedroom
(I hope)
(got to be honest
I’ve been writing this note since high school)
meet me on the Turnpike
I’m sure there’s a rest stop to meet our demands
teach me the spell you cast upon me
show me the past not shared
dispel every notion I ever had and make me glad
and make me laugh
(cursed)
(overflowing sea)
at the end of our lives
I’ll have kissed you only once
Damien Farley is not a writer. He is native to, and resides in, northern New Jersey. He is probably old enough to be your father. (Might he be? Ask your mom.) His poems recently appeared in Maudlin House, Tap into Poetry, Discretionary Love, Dirt Freckles, Rat’s Ass Review, and Soup Can Magazine.