Love and Sex and chocolate coconut ice cream cakes,
But, sweet little momma, that’s not at all what it takes
To keep me intrigued and glued next to you,
And I bet you haven’t got the slightest clue—
Hand in hand you silently listen to my silly wannabe poems:
The warm attention matters much more than a hand that roams;
And the walks thru our neighborhood, pensive and royal
While sharing the road with bushy-tailed tree rats keeps me loyal
To the witty little brown-tressed smartly aging hippy goddess,
Though I must confess I adore how you majestify that skirted dress.
Back home we Cajun, cavort, zydeco, and swing, then waltz—
Sharing a trite wine we talk talk talk as the ringing laughter never halts.
We go together to Yorkshire and the playoffs and follow the Doctor.
Remember study hall with that mirthless lazy upperclassman proctor?
You showed me how to find the stupid area under the curve,
As I developed an image to kiss you, but never had the nerve.
Now we laugh at our grays and ponder richly the latest wrinkle,
[But you could spare me those raised eyebrows when I try to go tinkle.]
The sun approaches the far horizon and together we’ll learn
How the endtimes will play out for the likes of we old lovers in turn.
Thank you for the Together, the Love, and the Let’s See What Tomorrow Brings;
Can’t wait for our next day and the hundred million little pay attention things.
Hey, let’s go write our names on the beach,
Just don’t ever be too far out of reach,
Loving you is all it ever takes—
Yes, I did say chocolate coconut ice cream cakes!
Unpoetic junctions, unrequited love
Broken clouds cascading past a thumbnail moon above
Insufficient walnuts lurking in a blueberry pie
Never a satisfactory answer for the ignorant Ferguson why
Blasted half-truths triggering sniggering comments from the crew
The panda ponders at the bamboo and I wonder why you won’t let me be in love with you
Emerald-eyed pan wrens perched on Grandma’s storm fence
More burials for the Middle East and Peace is strictly future tense
The moral of this off-story is there’s so much we cannot know
Without admitting tartly there’s more than a little bit farther we all have to go
In this photo shot by freelance photographer Johnny Nguyen, Sgt. Bret Barnum (left) hugs 12-year-old Devonte Hart during the Ferguson rally in Portland on Nov. 25, 2014. (Johnny Nguyen/Special to The Oregonian)