Joy

Joy 

I.

The noise of those late night,

city street, movie theatres

with firecracker popcorn machines:

that high top sneaker beat.

II.

Sitting down at the piano again

and sketching that melody--

letting my fingers remember

the shadow of each note,

the slope of their ups and downs,

the traipsing parade of flats.

III.

The bumper of your

white Honda,

The smell of sunscreen

faded into our loose, summer skins--

Our lives before us like flipped coins

yet to meet gravity,

yet to choose a side.