Bathgate At Ogilvie Road, Nevada
by Chris Sorrenti
Grown weary of yet another uneventful party,
I walked into the Mac’s Milk,
and there she was, standing behind the counter.
Asked her where the ripple chips were
in an fruitless effort to dissipate the building excitement;
the alcohol still active in my system
barely keeping my heart from doing the Mango Tango.
She told me playfully sarcastic
in a dominant feminine tone to go look for myself.
Walked up to the counter with my purchase.
Couldn’t help but grin.
She made some smart-ass comment -
just the excuse I needed.
I grabbed her hand in reaction;
squeezed it gently for punishment;
her fingers, white chocolate melting between mine,
and for one brief moment,
our souls connected as never before.
Her face lit up like atomic Nevada,
and to this day still wonder why I ever let go.
Her stern composure quickly deteriorating,
she punched the wrong amount on the cash register.
I felt relieved on seeing her helplessness;
me, being just as bad.
Revised © 2020
1,160 hits as of March 2024
Author's Note: The actual timeline for this poem is 1977.
Posted on 09/28/2014
Copyright © 2024 Chris Sorrenti