Let's drink youth for the last time,
By a final toast of Cheerwine floats
Laughing and blurry eyed with heat and sugar highs,
My bare feet in the cool grass,
Your shoulders drooping beneath linen
Wrinkled and spoiled by summer's merciless smother
Take a deep breath, I will be spinning
Beneath ancient columns, grazing red bricks
Kicking up dust of ages past
"Mr. Jefferson said," yes, I'm sure he did,
Along with the birds and the crickets who sing
Our supposed sonnets of opportunity,
But my only souvenir is this dance
Possessed by the love of a May evening
Your eyes reflect a map of star-studded destinations,
God bless this little old city and your boyish voice
As all grows quiet, for not one will call out to me
If I walk these pathways ever again.
-A.K.-
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