Algona (Sung to the tune of El Paso by Marty Robbins)

By Rick Williams


Out in the sleepy small town of Algona
I fell in love with a red-headed girl.
At school I'd stare but pretend not to see her
and through my mind thoughts of Brenda would whirl.

Cute were the dimples and pigtails of Brenda
but I was a "timid with girls" sort of lad.
I never looked at her wide eyes directly
so I never knew what color eyes that she had.

One day at school, new glasses she wore
so different she looked to us all.
Laughing and joking
such fun I was poking
with poor little Brenda
that girl that I loved.

So in anger she

snitched to the teacher before I could stop her
and cried while she told her what evil I'd done.
I'm sure I got into trouble about it
as Brenda stood back with a grin she had won.

I was not liking this bad situation,
I stood by the teacher and stared at the door.
But Brenda was worth it, a sassy young maiden
even though tears of mine fell to the floor.

Very soon after I, too, wore new glasses
and had to endure the same insults as she.
I hated them dearly for making me different
but loved them as well for at last I could see.

Things on the blackboard were finally in view
nothing escaped my new eyes
now I could see things
like panties on school swings
the clearly-seen undies:
my newly found prize.

Alas, but I

Moved from the town and went north to another
friends that I left there were fading from view.

For the girl in Algona my love was still burning
though Brenda had surely forgotten me now.
Like me she grew and forgot those days back when
we ran and we played as our days would allow.

Moving away from Algona one day
she had to follow her kin
maybe she'd be back
or maybe she wouldn't, but
looking behind her she
cried leaving her past.

And I felt that

A spark in my soul was extinguished or missing
an emptiness echoed though my childhood heart.
I couldn't tell what this emptiness came from
I only knew I felt missing a part.

Every ten years I had hope that I'd see her
my love for Brenda was still there inside.
At those reunions I never did find her
I never knew whether she lived or had died.

Then came the 40th, my heart filled with hope
maybe this time I would find
the girl I had searched for
for all of these years.
The beauty named Brenda
that I'd left behind.

So in earnest I

kept a sharp eye on the news of my classmates
working the listings I asked for her name.
One day I looked and my eyes misted over
written there was Brenda, my old childhood flame.

Now that I've found her I'll never let go of
this girl I have missed all those decades before.
I missed her so badly and now that she's back
I will love her forever, forever, and more.

Shop the stores; nevermore.

by Rick Williams


Once upon a Christmas eve
while I sat drinking, much relieved;
there came a ringing at my door.
Shop the stores; nevermore.

"What could it be?" I pondered then
"An item ordered way back when?"
I sprang and slid across the floor.
Shop the stores, nevermore.

I cracked the door and peered outside
it was late you see, and my brain was fried.
The porch light blazed, and brown he wore.
Shop the stores; nevermore.

I was so happy, though late the hour
that piles of praise on him I showered.
I attacked the box; I ripped and tore.
Shop the stores; nevermore.

Aha! It's the final thing I needed.
My Christmas shopping had succeeded!
The online world has so much to explore.
Shop the stores; nevermore.

What drove me to this shopping style?
Why did I stray from wandering aisles?
It seems only yesterday that I swore:
Shop the stores; nevermore.

The crowds of shoppers, the crazy sales
It grew too great! My patience failed!
and when I found I could take no more:
Shop the stores; nevermore.

No more traffic, no stressful pain,
from jam-packed parking lots I can refrain.
I'll sit warm inside while rain does pour.
Shop the stores; nevermore.

I'll miss the decorations of reds and greens,
and the multitude of Santa figurines.
Although "impulse" items I'll fail to score:
Shop the stores; nevermore.

I'll (not!) miss the endless Christmas songs
that play all day and all night long.
Yes, lines at checkouts make me sore.
Shop the stores; nevermore.

Although you can't touch or try things on
at least you can order before they're gone.
If it must be returned then it becomes a chore...
still...
Shop the stores; nevermore.

Sips of Kauai

by Rick Williams


Land of beaches, water warm
of ocean waves and rainy storms.

Blowing breezes, sometimes cool;
where flip-flops and bikinis rule.

Chickens, wild, roam everywhere
no predators, and not a care.

Surfboards strapped to cars of rust
the search for perfect waves: a must.

Kauai is best in in little sips.
Romance the thought of annual trips.

See, things are different when it's home;
the lack of seasons, not far to roam.

Things of steel cry in despair
in constant moist and salty air.

The growth rate of the native plants
makes maintenance a full-time dance.

It's paradise in almost every way
and, like most, you'll probably want to stay.

But, enjoy your time, leave wanting more
and you'll never tire of the Kauai shore.

Fireflies

By Rick Williams


Two decades of my life passed by
before I ever saw a firefly.

Because there are none where I live
I'd never seen one, please forgive.

That day the light was fading fast
the dirt road dim from shadows cast.

Then I walked out of the trees
and what I saw then made me freeze.

I was mesmerized at what I eyed
before me in a meadow, wide.

For in that open field out there
were a million blinking lights, midair.

I know that I was struck with awe
dumb with wonder at what I saw.

For I stood, transfixed, and stared in shock
and found myself afraid to walk.

I stared in wonder at the flashing show
that blinked a yellowish-greenish glow.

I never will forget that night
I saw that show of insect light.

What really made that it second to none
was before that night I'd never seen one.

Thirty years have passed since then
and I'm sure I'll never see again.

To never see, then see so many
is like someone said, "you've seen plenty."

"No more for you, you've seen the best.
Go write a poem if you were impressed."

The Stranger

By Rick Williams


A sleepy village changed the day
a wandering stranger came.
They had no clue their mundane lives
would never be the same.

A pair of zebras led his cart
a sight quite rare indeed
for people there had never seen
a creature of this breed.

If that were not quite odd enough
his wagon caught their gaze;
adorned with flames of swirling colors
that seemed to dance and blaze.

The man himself was very short
his ears a curious shape
he wore a tall, orange, shiny hat
and and a green & purple cape.

His mustache formed two graceful loops;
each framed a rosy cheek,
and each one of them ended
in a sharply-pointed peak.

On his chin a tiny bell
hung from a wispy beard.
It jingled very faintly
as his throat he cleared.

"Spread the word to one and all:
I've brought something to share!
Tell family, friends, and foes alike
to be here in this square."

"You'll not want to miss out
and it's absolutely free,
so tell everyone in town
that here they'll want to be."

"I'll be back later tonight
after you drink and dine.
I'll answer all your questions then
and fill your curious minds."

With that he turned and sat back down
and whistled a curious tone
the zebras jumped and off they flew
leaving blank-faced folks alone.

Several folks chased after him
but stopped at the first turn.
They stared with sudden disbelief
No trace could they discern.

They muttered, "Not a trace of dust
or track--how can that be?
He vanished like a ghost, he did
and we were there to see!"

Slowly, folks began to leave
and go about their day
But there was lots of talk
and lots of things to say.

When evening came upon the town
and the hour was drawing near
The town square filled with villagers
though the reason was unclear.

"Who was he?" many people asked,
"Why do we make this fuss?"
"What is this thing he said he had
to give away to us?"

Suddenly, the crowd grew silent
and there was heard a sound.
A clopping noise came from behind
And people turned around.

The stranger had arrived again
and silence did ensue,
and as he rolled into the throng
the crowd slowly withdrew.

When he reached the center
of the village square he stopped.
He stood and smiled down at the folks
then from his seat he dropped.

There was a murmur from the crowd
as people tried to see
what the stranger's business was,
and who he claimed to be.

He opened up the carriage door
and put a stool upon the ground,
and with a basket full of bottles
he stepped up and looked around.

"Hark ye! Gather near to me--
come hither with great haste.
move quickly before the day is done
let not a minute waste."

"You there, small timid man
with long and crooked nose;
I see that curiosity
within you surely grows."

"You too, old woman
there, way in back
with grey-streaked hair
and dressed in black."

"Come forth, good people
for I have brought
something that you surely need
but currently have not."

"I offer you salvation
from discomfort and from pain
to you I give my bottled cure.
From payment please refrain."

"I see from many faces here
that are staring out at me,
that some of you are skeptics
while others yearn to see."

"Worry not the least dear friends,
it is my gift to you.
My payment is to see you well
when tomorrow's sky turns blue."

He offered bottles in both hands
held outward toward the fray
and slowly townsfolk inched in close
to what he held their way.

"Don't be afraid," he volunteered
as he held the bottles out.
"There's nothing here unsafe for you
of that please have no doubt."

The townsfolk began to make their way
to the stranger's outstretched arms
and slowly excitement began to grow
as they were caught up in his charms.

No one seemed to notice
that he had the exact amount
of bottles for each person there
or that he did without a count.

Soon everyone was drinking
and the contents were all gone
and people looked around to see if
anything was going on.

A murmur rose from in the crowd
and it began to rise.
"I don't feel any different...
...how about you?" became the cries.

The stranger climbed back up atop
the zebra-powered cart.
He stood and faced the crowd once more
and held his arms apart.

"You'll see or feel nothing at all
until the morning light.
So just relax and go about
your evening, and good night."

He turned and sat upon the seat
and gave the reins a shake
and suddenly he and his cart were gone
leaving chaos in his wake.

When morning came the town was still;
no people and no sound.
There were still the sounds of nature
but no humans were around.

Then in the eerie stillness
a familiar sound was heard:
The stranger and his zebra's hooves
where the only thing that stirred.

He paused at each and every door
while the zebras patiently stood
he went inside and came back with
anything that looked good.

When he had went through every house
he had spent the entire day,
a multitude of very tiny folks
watched him roll away.

A Tribute to Bruce

By Rick Williams


A lot of things have been repaired:
Machinery, pipes, and wiring,
but after years of working hard
Lansciardi is retiring.

He has been our "go-to" guy
when things at work would die.
It seemed he could fix anything.
If not, he still would try.

It didn't matter if he was clean
he'd jump right into messes.
He'd clear a plugged-up toilet
or work on oily presses.

Installations and upgrades
were also things he'd do.
No matter how complex they'd seem
He could see them through.

He taught a lot of people things
that they had never known.
He was a patient teacher too,
and taught without a groan.

We always knew when he was near--
his whistle could be heard.
That's how he announced himself
without a single word.

Many times he worked so hard
and he was stretched so thin
he needed clones to help him finish
so his next job could begin.

I'm sure that there are things at work
he'd just as soon forget,
but he'll miss things too--I'm sure of that
but won't too soon I'll bet.

There is one thing that might be good
about Bruce leaving us,
and that's the blame game we can pull
whenever we get cussed.

I can hear it now--just wait:
"Who didn't get this done?"
We'll be able to point a finger
"It was Bruce--Yep, he's the one."

It's time that he slowed down a bit
and treasured things in life;
He'll get to count his blessings
and spend time with his wife.

It will be weird after he leaves
on that you can rely,
but he has worked his years;
it's time to say goodbye.

I Saw a Man

By Rick Williams


I saw a man who was painfully thin
his clothes were dirty rags;
he was standing in a garbage bin
digging through the bags.

Briefly then, his gaze met mine;
his red-rimmed eyes were pained.
If they ever held a shine
no trace of it remained.


I saw a man with mismatched shoes;
his dirty ankles bare.
He clutched his paper bag of booze
and peered through stringy hair.

He stared down at the littered ground
as if it wasn't there;
oblivious of things around,
lost in his despair.


I saw a man upon the ground
in dirty blankets rolled;
he slept and as he did he frowned
outdoors in bitter cold.

He has no place to call his own
and has to search for food.
He spends his empty days alone
no friends he can include.


I saw a man that spends his nights
inside a cardboard box.
Enduring insects and their bites
he has no doors or locks.

Sometimes when he'll go and roam
to find something to eat
he'll come back to his makeshift home
and find only empty street.


I saw a man in an alleyway
huddled near a warm air vent;
at his side a small dog lay
sharing space on the cement.

Whenever there was food to eat
he fed his puppy first.
Although they lived out on the streets
alone it would be worse.


I saw a man that wandered nights;
he found it best to stay
away from all the noise and lights
and sleep during the day.

He rested in the doorways, dark
and hid from public eye;
he'd sometimes sleep in city parks
under the open sky.


I saw a man hunched in the rain;
he once had pride and wealth.
From drug use he could not refrain;
it cost his job and health.

His energy, once strong, was spent;
he had nothing left to give.
Begging handouts he stood, bent;
doing what he could to live.


The stories of these fallen men
are varied, yet the same.
They know they can't go back again
nor pasts can they reclaim.

The human need to cling to life
is all that drives them now.
Their days are filled with pain and strife
but they survive, no matter how.

Dreams, Goals, and Heroes

By Rick Williams


Evaporated are the dreams
I may have had when young.
No fame or fortune did I reach;
no stars were I among.

When I was just a toddler
my world was family;
Nothing mattered but the things
that were in front of me.

Of course I had no dreams or goals
or knew what such things meant;
My world was very, very small,
and I was quite content.

My parents were my heroes first;
they clothed and cared for me.
They kept me fed and safe from harm;
no better could they be.

Like any boy of age
I idolized my dad,
so he was probably
the first real hero that I had.

He was a mechanic then
but to my bright, young eyes
he was the greatest one of all--
so talented and wise.

Like most young boys I watched TV
and loved the heroes there.
When Superman was on I'd sit
and glassy-eyed would stare.

The Lone Ranger was another of
my heroes of those years.
I loved those men that wore those masks
that hid them from their fears.

Then my hero worship
during teens was put away.
Hormonal issues took the lead
of thoughts I had each day.

In my twenties I'd sometimes sit
and at myself be pissed.
I'd reflect on time I wasted;
opportunities I missed.

If only I had studied hard
and set some goals instead;
I'd probably be much better off;
financially ahead.

When I finally settled down
and married with a home,
I seldom pondered things I missed
or where I yearned to roam.

But then I found myself again
with heroes on the mind,
but this time it was more along
the philanthropic kind.

I love the feel of giving
and wish there was no end
to the needy people I could help
or how much I could spend.

Occasionally I still have thoughts
of how cool that it would be
to be so good at something
that the world would worship me.

Looking back at all I've done,
and dreams that I have had
notable accomplishments are few
except that I'm a dad.

I Like to Rhyme

By Rick Williams


What is it that makes me like
to tell a tale this way;
to format it in rhyming lines
when I have words to say?

It's a style of story-telling
that's hard, without a doubt.
To make the flow and syllables
sound right when sounded out.

I guess I like the challenge;
to see if I can tell
an interesting story
that's fun to say as well.

Sometimes when I start them
they don't go anywhere.
No matter how or what I try
I sit and blankly stare.

After trying many things
that never quite work out,
I use the mental garbage can
then try another route.

Sometimes even I'm surprised
when words seem to cascade.
Instead of simply killing time
a masterpiece is made.

I've dabbled with many varieties
of poetry and verse.
Some were mediocre tries,
and some were even worse.

The difficulty of a poem
can vary with its style,
but struggle followed by success
can make it all worthwhile.

They come in many flavors
these poems that I build.
Some are very hard to rhyme;
some leave me unfulfilled.

But limericks are my favorites;
they're whimsical and fun!
Although they're harder to complete
they please me when they're done.

If you've tried a poem yourself
but failed each time you tried,
try yet again--Don't quit just yet;
success will bring you pride!

This one took me weeks to make
but now that it is done;
Who knows--I may just clear my head
and start another one.

Blog Pressure

By Rick Williams


Just because we both have blogs
you can't always expect
the words to drip and flow with ease
or witty thoughts connect.

Sometimes when we try to post
we notice and we see
that everything that dribbles out
is boring as can be.

It would be nice if every post
had some wit and fun
but sometimes only bland exists
when our "exciting" day is done.

All we can do is sigh and think
of something good to write;
something that will bring a smile
or otherwise delight.

There are times when we sit down
to write our greatest tale
we know we have it all worked out
but words just seem to fail.

The things that happen in our lives
to us may be big news
but when another reads our stuff
could be boring to peruse.

Some blog posts are diaries
or "What I did today:"
and others are fond memories
of things that slipped away.

Some posts are chronicles
of an occurrence or event
we hope to get it written down
before our minds have went.

Some posts are quite negative
and more of a soapbox rant
when something gets under my skin
that I try to forget, but can't.

Some of my favorite posts have been
the ones like this that rhyme.
I think that they're more special
perhaps a tad sublime.

Apparently these poems I do
are, by readers, not preferred;
For comments from those readers
are hardly ever heard.

Perhaps that it's instead the case
that folks don't want to see
an attempt to be creative
or any such debris.

Maybe dirt is what they want
like magazines they read.
Who did what, to who, and how
is what the readers need.

I hope I pointed all of you
to what our blogs entail
pleasing everyone is hard
and we sometimes fail.

Chromatic Discontentment

By Rick Williams


The colors of the rainbow
one day stood in the sky.
They formed a circle as they stood,
and words began to fly.

The color Blue was first to speak,
and looking left and right,
said, "I'm the prettiest color here;
at least within my sight."

Purple scoffed and said, "No way.
I'm much less plain than Blue.
I am mixed of you and Red
so I'm prettier than either of you."

Red flushed her cheeks in anger.
"Are you saying that your hue
is better than my crimson tone
because you're mixed with Blue?"

She said, "If I could leave this line
I don't know where I'd go,
but it would be near someone else.
That--for sure I know."

"I'm pretty and important."
Orange was heard to say.
"A fruit was even named for me
that helps people start their day."

Yellow piped up in a squeaky voice,
"I am so cheery and bright!
My color makes mustard and lemons
and flowers like daffodils look right!"

Then Green, in a sultry voice, chimed in.
"I'm am the color of life," she said,
"The world of plants is my claim to fame
so I'm most definitely ahead."

They all began to argue
and grumbling ensued
each claiming only they
were perfectly hued.

Then, above, a pleasant voice was heard,
and a light began to shine.
She said, "What is all this bickering
and why do you all whine?"

"To argue of your beauty
like each of you were best;
don't any of you see how much
that each of you is blessed?"

"I haven't the color of any of you
for White is the absence of all;
still, I am happy as I am,
seeing smiles during snowfall."

"Each of you is special
and you're all in great demand.
Without your different hues and shades
this world would be so bland."

The colors were all silent
then a rain began to fall,
and the circle opened to create
the most beautiful rainbow of all.

Fingernail Moon

By Rick Williams


A crescent moon shone down upon
the frosty countryside.
It bathed the fields in ghostly white,
throwing shadows far and wide.

The air was still; no breezes blew;
There was no trace of sound.
The only noises that were heard:
My footsteps on the ground.

A fine, light frost on everything
was bathed in a bluish glow.
The lunar light lit everything
and sparkled like new snow.

Somewhere out there creatures lived
but nothing moved or stirred.
The cold night sky held naught but moon;
no insect, bat, or bird.

It looked like a torn off fingernail
but its brightness would belie
the fact that it was not complete
and but a sliver in the sky.

The Sorry Truck

By Rick Williams


My truck of black; it tested me
it's mood I always guessed.
Sometimes it would start with glee
and others only rest.

Just when I would start to hope
that it was finally fixed,
I'd turn the key, but it said, "Nope"
and my joy would then be nixed.

I never knew on any day
if it would ever start.
I'd turn the key and I would pray
for just a pop or fart.

Usually it was at home
that it would let me down,
but sometimes it would let me roam
then strand me across town.

Sometimes it would toy with me
to see if I would tire.
I'd almost kill the battery
and it might then decide to fire.

That day it knew it went too far
it started instantly,
but I just stared down at my car
and ignored it's last-ditch plea.

Onto the trailer to be towed
it slowly made its way,
and tears from its windshield washer flowed
as it was led away.

Ode to a Cousin

By Rick Williams


Melinda, whom I love so dearly
cousin since my day of birth;
Our meetings then were at best, yearly
I never knew your friendship's worth.

Your pictures graced my grandpa's wall,
both yours and sister Jan.
When I went near they seemed to call
so there I'd stop and stand.

I remember that I'd stop and gaze
any time I could
I'll bet I could have stayed for days
transfixed, right where I stood.

I was so in awe of you
whenever you were here,
I always felt self-conscious
whenever you were near.

The times you guys came up
to visit were so few,
that each for me was awkward
like I had only just met you.

Algona, where I lived and grew
was "no-wheres-ville" to me;
I longed for Southern Cal with you
where tanned I'd always be.

"Where the Action Is" and "Bandstand"
I watched them on TV.
I'd dream of California sand
and in those thoughts you'd be.

You were older than me back then
and so cool in every way,
I'd try to memorize the things you'd do
and everything you'd say.

Now that many years have passed
and our ages finally touch,
I can truly say at last
that I love you very much!

Summer's End

By Rick Williams


Cold and damp, the evening air
as October's end draws near;
The lazy warmth of the evening sun
is gone until next year.

The leaves of many of the trees
are turning red and gold
from the lack of the sunlight
and from the night-time cold.

Wood stove smoke hangs heavy
in the cool, moist night time air,
and in the mornings fog and dew
are not exactly rare.

Gone are the musical ice cream trucks
with their irritating tunes,
Replaced by quiet, empty darkness
and hazy, orange full moons.

Pumpkin fields, awash in orange
are everywhere you look
and cornfields cut to mazes
like puzzles from a book.

Soon it will be Halloween
and children of all sizes,
will be busy ringing doorbells
in search of sweet surprises.

Witches, ghosts, and monsters
are what they used to be
but now they're cartoon characters
and heroes from TV.

The favorite sport will also change
from one game to another.
Instead of swinging baseball bats
they'll be tackling each other.

Bodies once totally bare
to the hot, dry summer sun
are now covered completely
with no button left undone.

So put away your swimsuits
and beach towels for a bit,
and dig out all your winter clothes
to see if they still fit.

The satin sheets can go as well;
use flannel ones instead,
and spread the quilt that grandma made
out over the bed.

With holidays just ahead,
and everyone baking treats
the diets will go out the window
as everyone overeats.

Whether it's due to boredom
or what, no one really knows,
but as least our overeating
will be hidden by our clothes.

So if you end up feeling down
and melancholy too
just think ahead to summer
and you will make it through!

I Don't Need a Reason

By Rick Williams


People often wonder
what is right and what is wrong.
We wonder what our purpose is
and where we all belong.

We wake and rise each morning
and ready for our day
some may go to school or work
and others might just play.

Some people have a purpose
and others have no clue
of why it is that they're put here
and what they are to do.

Many people need to think
that "someone" put them here
while others are content to have
no god to praise or fear.

To some my way of thinking
is called "outside the box"
but I don't care that they may think
my head is full of rocks.

For I believe that this is hell
and not what's after death.
All the things that happen now;
before our final breath.

Pain and sorrow are no fun
on that we all agree,
but they can be our private hell
and feel like eternity.

Me? I don't need a greater reason
to live upon this earth
than to eat and drink, and maybe sex,
and share a little mirth.

Who knows how long that we may last
or how long we'll be here?
So eat and laugh and love,
and drink another beer.

Sometimes my thoughts can be quite strange
and border on bizarre,
but that's what makes me who I am
instead of who you are.

The Meeting

By Rick Williams


The once was a woman named Kerri
who wanted a man, but was wary.
She'd been married before
but the union was poor
the details of which I will spare ye.

While on the computer one day
she stopped into a chat room to stay.
The people would greet
everyone they did meet.
Not one unkind word would they say.

And chatting in there on that day
was a man who had hair specked with gray.
Upon checking she found
he was married, and she frowned
Why does it always seem to happen this way?

But although her conscience said, "Run!"
she found that it couldn't be done.
His picture was cute
and she couldn't refute
That he said so many things fun!

She thought she could stop but could not
when the flirting became very hot.
She thought, "Here's a chance
for a little romance.
That is, if he doesn't get caught."

One day when she felt very bold
"Either act now or I will be old."
She said, "Can we meet
and get something to eat
and see what the future may hold?"

The timing was right--now or never.
With his wife gone, he need not be clever.
If it didn't work out
Or an ass he turned out
Ties with him she could then sever.

They agreed on a nice public place
for their first ever face-to-face.
If he got out of hand
with his hands or demands
she could try out her new can of mace.

They laughed and they talked while they ate
and they sipped on their drinks and felt great.
The karaoke crowd
made the bar very loud,
and by the time that they left it was late.

They walked out to their cars to go
and they hugged very tightly you know.
And while both had been drinking
they were also both thinking
That their feelings had just started to show.

They met once again the next day,
both of their heads swimming with thoughts to convey.
Neither knew what to do
but one thing they knew:
This thing felt too good to just let slip away

They both settled into his ride.
Where to go was quite hard to decide.
But he talked of a store
full of furniture to explore
"We'll be there in minutes," he lied.

He took the slowest route he could find
To make use of their being confined.
They talked and they smiled
And were both quite beguiled.
"She's so sexy!" he thought in his mind.

They got to the store and walked around,
occasionally stopping and sitting down.
when they went by a bed
thoughts entered her head,
but no handcuffs were anywhere to be found.

"There's espresso outside," he then told her.
And while in line he caressed her shoulders.
The feeling she got
made her melt on the spot.
and he wanted so badly to hold her.

They decided that back to her car they would go,
but a parade was in town and traffic was slow.
He knew is way 'round
the alleys of town,
and they managed to stay out of the flow.

They stopped at a very small park
with a view, and again felt that spark.
They touched and they hugged;
it was like they were drugged.
They could have easily stayed until dark.

Back where her car was he heard himself say,
"What should we do now for the rest of the day?"
She looked at his face
and said, "How 'bout my place?"
And his answer, of course, was, "Okay."

She opened the door and she stood up alongside
then, forgetting her purse, she leaned back inside.
"Nice view," he then said
as he nodded his head
to those beautiful breasts that he eyed.

"Lead me to the freeway," she said with a smile,
"Then I'll get in front for the rest of the while."
"I'll try not to lose you"
and then off she flew to
her shiny white sports car with style.

Her small apartment was neat as a pin.
But still she fussed nervously within.
She said, "It's hard to impress
when the place is a mess
But I didn't expect this, so cleaning didn't begin."

She went and she got him a beer
and made her a drink while he stood near.
They sat down to relax
but they didn't need snacks:
They were hungry for each other, that was clear.

As the hours wore on, they snuggled every which way,
and most of their clothing also got lost in the fray.
Down to loose pants
they were in a love trance,
when they decided they should stop the love play.

Both reluctantly slowly got up and got dressed
for they both knew in their hearts that it was best.
There would be other days
that their passion could blaze,
and it would give time to consider the feelings expressed.

So, alas, they said goodnight and they parted,
and they hoped to continue what had started.
It was basically the end
of the perfect weekend
they each thought sadly as he departed.