Singing in Gold

Singing in Gold
 
I remember the yellow pink peaches.
the long, sandy road
toward the beach, and pecans,
sold at the peach stand, with
colored shells, and pop guns,
for the children of tourists,
as though they needed
anything for noise.
I remember pink plastic pelicans,
swaying back and forth
in front of fruit stands, and
sometimes by wooden mailboxes.
We stopped to pet the alligator,
but he was in a pit with high bars,
and much bigger than we thought
he would be.
One night the wind blew high gales,
and I worried of hurricanes
and evacuation procedures.
Only one way out of here, you said,
and I thought how that could mean,
death or the highway,
but you said it wouldn't matter,
that we could hide at the biker bar,
in New Syrnna; nothing ever hit there.
But we stayed in Daytona, as the waves
rose to stare in the motel windows
on the second floor.
You made grilled cheese sandwiches,
and said, there wouldn't be much more
wind, it was settling in the gulf somewhere,
though the rain kept whining, winding high.
The next morning I awakened to silence,
and your silhouette on the balcony.
The air was still cool with salt
I wrapped us together in one blanket,
and we stood and watched the sun,
rising from the water into the sky,
and across the shoulders of a work crew,
already on top of a nearby condo,
waving hammers and forbidden beer,
in a dawn of daring scaffold walks.
Everything outside glowing an amber
yellow light,  the wild wind birds,
singing sharply , a wind blown
sweet concession stand of songs.
Stick legs,  frail gypsy feet
in the soft hint of cold,
singing in gold.

Reviews

[Emily B]

your memory sings sweet with this one

[The Rock And Roll Cowbo..]

WOW... great capturing of a time the is obviously etch on your heart with pride... you put the reader right in the moment with your delightful descriptions.