SUMMERTIME LOVE (circa 1950)
In the sweltering July heat
he follows her swaying Pocahontas braid
up the fire-tower trail, locked on like a
laser to her short white shorts,
undulating hips and the magnetic
wibble-wabble of her comely backside.
The scent of musk and ambrosia
floats him up the hill like a thistledown
blown in the wind, levitating like the
flying Maharishi, past an illuminated
field of black-eyed Susan, goldenrod
and magenta wildflowers.
Inhaling each other's presence,
they dreamily rest at the base
of the mountain's rainbow hued
waterfall, gorging on watermelon,
creating collages out of milky
white quartzite and broken fossils.
He lights cigarettes two at a time
like Paul Henried in "Now Voyager,"
and kisses her until dawn, tongues toying
with each other like fluttering birds.
Listening to echoes of "Roll out the Barrel"
from the tavern in the valley, they embrace,
counting vanishing shooting stars,
melding into sleep as one.
Milton P. Ehrlich