Oh love and summer, you are in the dreams and in me…Leaves of Grass by Walt Whitman
TRAFFICKING IN DREAMS
Sitting on the worn stone steps of summer
on salty Brooklyn nights in Dyker Heights
with our senior year pending like a threat.
I sang you, my first song. You played me,
honeyed melodies in B on a new guitar.
Stan on his Irish frame*. Jim on horn.
Your sassy sister chorine** sprinkling
silver star-dust. We trafficked in dreams.
But faith betrayed, a rusted rudder;
your future a rose-bright moon
falling sadly into a turquoise sea.
You’d drive me home at dawn
in your dad’s blue Nova, into a
violet sunrise, deep purple maples
standing guard by mom’s place.
Now gone, you and the old roost.
No more of your music. No old friends.
Just meandering the strangest streets
mumbling something off-key, strumming
the memory of you, a new guitar, and
the summer we trafficked in dreams.
© 2010-2012 poem, Jamie Dedes, all rights reserved
Photo credit ~ Petr Kratochvil, Public Domain Pictures.net
* a bodhrán drum.
** 1920s American term for a chorus girl.