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by Johnny Crimson

The floorboards were burning
beneath my feet
as I walked across the back deck to gaze out at
the wide Carolina ocean.
A gang was rustling there on the beach below.
23 at most,the lot of them
could be, and It
took my mind back to a simpler time
when we'd walk down this very beach
for hours. We'd wrestle
and roll down the dunes and end up
in the drift.
My intentions sincere, I'd pull your two-piece apart
with my teeth and you'd giggle,cute thing that you are.

Returning to this reality
I was watching the girls below with
intrigue as I heard some rustling a
little closer to home.

For my wife was now awakening and the
fact that I had just been fantasizing
about fake memories with a girl other
than her was a revelation. But the real
truth that the girl in my head was my cousin,
well there must be homes for people like me.


Posted on 05/23/2009
Copyright © 2024 Johnny Crimson

Member Comments on this Poem
Posted by George Hoerner on 05/23/09 at 11:36 PM

Home is where you are, at least for me. And in most of us there is a gap between thought and action. If not there might be many more of us in jail. Good write.

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