Remember the hottest day ever—
sweat open-faucet pouring
over your kid head
sweltering & miserable
mouth huffing steam—
when you heard the merry jingle
from the ice-cream truck
fingered $.25 pocket treasures
swallowed hard &
shoved-popsicle-push-up-unmannered-into-mouth
tongue exploding sticky summer satisfied & suddenly—
you never wanted that day to end?
That is your top lip.
Your bottom lip is an open highway—
windows down, radio loaded,
wanderlust amplified
& there’s never been a road trip like this….
I kiss you in a canyon—
chill wind carrying hawks
great furious orb sinking West
blazing mountains—
Thermostat reads,
“It’s 100 degrees,
& we’re 8 years old
& it’s hot August on this rock-candy road
leading everywhere…
I hear that square truck
echo through Aspen Hills.
Your strawberry smile
cradles my lemonade lips
&
all I taste
is popsicles.
***
This poem is one featured from Susan Peiffer’s book, Eating Lead Paint as a Child, which is available on amazon. Click the link and order a copy of her fifth book of poems today!
