While our soldiers were bogged down

in the swirling sands of El Alamein ,

struggling to outwit the sly Desert Fox,

on the home front, “Spin The Bottle,”

was a gateway to delicious first kisses.

Elsie, the Borden cow winked lasciviously

as a glistening bottle whirled, a compass

searching for magnetic North spun

round and paired them off.

Giggling girls, gussied up, pink bows

on pig-tails, boys with Vitalis slicked

pompadours, combs at the ready.

Too old for “Pin The Tail On The Donkey,”

or dunking for crunchy McIntosh apples

with imbedded nickels and dimes,

birthday parties had segued to a new plateau.

With hair sprouting in private places

an “élan vital” stoked brand new sensations

that could not so easily be quelled.

Curiosity about emerging bosoms, suddenly

made girls look  interesting, no longer

shunned, teased or chased around the block.

Cloistered in a darkened closet they

found their lips were made for kissing.

Quivering, pressed together, they sparked

a glowing heat, sweet crimson oozing globs

warmed the spine from the coccyx

to a dizzying brain, wondering how

to hide a tumescent tent pole when they

stepped into the light to resounding applause.