We're Booked for... Ever

Flat tires made round and sound,

The tall trees shake out a salsa beat in the shade

Cardiovascular rhythms thudding base

Fingers strumming a tune in clasped hands

And the sun shines in your face completing

Not a melody

Not a song

Not a symphony.

But a punk rock show.

You riff a solo, flashing that smile

I step right behind you, eating that mic.

And we take off with the rush of a million leaps from the stage

Not to sweaty fans but to sweet freedom

Like the first day of summer vacation

Higher than ninety-nine plus one red balloons.

Fifteen cans of tuna couldn’t capture this.

A shared flea couldn’t either.

We fly closer to the moon, yet daylight shines brighter,

Like a fluorescent highlighter.

Eye why queue.

And we walk, and we rock all the way to dinner

And an endless tour.