Fred Aiken Writing

incremental moments spent watching words stream by

on banners teasing the night

with promises of getting lighter;

darker, mixed with chocolate and vegan marshmallows so no one feels isolated

yet everyone feels a little disappointed

when it rains out plans of roughing it

in the neighbor’s backyard pool while they vacation in Istanbul,

smoking weed to pass life’s drug test so we don’t fail

at being narcs on the screen

binge watching Finding Nemo at twice its normal speed

stuck inside for the foreseeable future, while pretending we know German,

though probably speaking nonsense to a night not so unremarkable

yet memorable for being the first time we got to second base with the same girl

for different reasons,

at different times

and still feeling the same afterwards,

like substitute adults in bad costumes at

a Halloween party far off in the future,

now

wishing we still ate candy rather than burping suds

of yeast and malt fermenting within

while screaming to get out

for one more pool party as teens to feel

the thrill of getting to second base at the same time

for different reasons

when the pool party gets rained out arbitrarily in the middle of August

yet another time

as mermaids swim naked as we stroll by

casually, not too desperate, but in complete despair,

finding out that after school specials seem a lot cooler when it’s reality

missed

gliding through astroturf rubbing areas raw

that should never be touched, but there, on the horizon

we will find out soon enough