Reanimated Lavender Granola Switchblade Nun rides again.

Saturday, December 28, 2013

Surf Blue

Do you remember
my brother's little cars with the real rubber tires?
We would load our dollie in the back of his ambulance
and leave it on the tracks.
Ding ding ding, dollie--
you think you feel bad now, just wait til old number 7 comes through.

Later, we took out your grandfather's Plymouth
with the push button automatic.
The radio played Golden Earring
and the back seat was bigger than our first apartment.
We fishtailed through those years,
and though you said you knew where we were going,
you lied just as sweet as ever.

How I loved your fingers.
There aren't enough rings in all the second hand shops of the world
to do them justice.
I remember them, and how they found their way,
slick little devils that did the trick every time.
I told you not to take that job in radiology.
I hated to see you lose those tapered beauties one by one.

Sometimes I think the only clear view comes through a cracked glass.
If I could find that Plymouth, I would sit in it
and recall how you told me I was a better kisser than any movie star.
Now, my teeth have gone soft in my head,
I live on pancakes and don't give a damn if the mail or tomorrow comes.

I want to sit on the tracks in a long white bed,
and dream of how we used to be.
The train system is run by computers now,
nobody to feel guilty if I get spun like a carousel,
an old doll in a gas tank bomb of a car,
crashing headlong to feel you restored and handsy

touching my face so tenderly
as if I were made of blown glass and what they used to call
surf blue with eggshell white.

for the mini-challenge at Real Toads.



  1. Fireblossom you took along roads I haven't travel in quite awhile...push button automatics... big back seats... let's head to the drive in movies... :)

  2. Somehow you recapture that magical time of childhood when mayhem was innocent but oh so sincere--we used to make 'poison berry toothpaste' out in the scraggly hedges back in Chi-town. But the desolation and loss of digits is only something that comes with maturity (see how I avoid the "A" word.) This brings the grue as only you can, Shay. I am creeped out but content.

  3. Oh nooooo. It's already started. Two poems in one day.

    The images are incredible. Golden Earring. That one threw me back--instantly--to a few decades in the past...

  4. Oh yeah, wonderful... that push button Plymouth.. I took a ride in one of those once. And riding with you here was a blast of nostalgia. I love it.

  5. Ooo...I love cyclical, tying in your title/ending, makes my poetic heart so happy. Such a visual flow unfettered from image to image so expertly. :)

  6. Great take on things gone by! Those were times of wanting to live and staying cool doing them. But looking back those were times of discovery and childhood innocence much missed now. Wonderful write Shay!


  7. ahhh, this is really nice. i'm struck by the Golden Earring reference and by "handsy." but what's really interesting to me is the whole lady-on-the-tracks thing, i think about that a lot. it was a major reference in our youth, right? love this, Shay. really good.

  8. OMG, reminded me of when my best friend and I rolled her dad's big old gas guzzler down the driveway late one night, drove into town and she got into a head-on in an intersection and groaned "My dad is going to kill me!" Hadnt thought of that in a while. Great write, kiddo. Two fantastic ones in a day - is that legal?

  9. The Golden Earring reference was just perfect. The whole thing is just perfect.

  10. mmmmm, the old La Sabre. . . bat mobile. . . .

  11. This is fabulous story-telling, Shay. You nailed the nostalgic tone and the sense of then and now, so perfectly.

    This is the line that did it for me:

    Sometimes I think the only clear view comes through a cracked glass.

    Brilliant observation of the human condition.

  12. my introduction to AC/DC was in the back of an old Dodge Dart, driven by my new acquaintance Skip (later my best friend), speaker volume turned to 11, on the way to a legendary (in our minds) skate haunt - an abandoned pool up in the hills near Santa Cruz. I was mortified. Later, I learned all the lyrics and blared it myself. The Dart was purple. No kissing then, though.

    oh, the poem? you caught it perfect, as usual, Shay. ~

  13. This makes me nostalgic even though my experiences were different. I love the details that really bring the scene to life. You are a great storyteller!

  14. Oh the view through a cracked glass.. I could never get clearer than that... love how you took us through this trip back to a time lost... a sweet melancholy... and stark images of loss.

  15. Love how the photo goes with this. Sets the tone for the poem well. (though I am not sure if the photo is of a Plymouth)

  16. It rings with a certain air of truth, but also has that tinge of madness; it's like William Burroughs without the self-indulgence.


Spirit, what do you wish to tell us?