If Only

for Julie, on her birthday

if only every evening
settled into darkness
with a slight breeze
and a plate of cookies,
a sleeping dog at my feet
and wine in my hand,
four or five of us
on your back porch
talking under Christmas
and star lights
and over Electric Light Orchestra,
sharing dirty jokes and poetry,
life’s parabolas,
the awkward ambiguity
of making it to tomorrow
without letting the hula hoop fall

if only every car-radio song
inspired hand-clapping sing-alongs
so perfect we sat in your driveway
letting rain wash your windshield
until the last bass thump died
and if only every text message
produced spit-take laughs
or held hard-won wisdom
in its tiny emoji hands
and every greeting
was an announced hug
that pulled all the broken pieces
back into place for a moment

if only the entire universe
was a porch-swing
on a Thursday night in May,
moved by events
but never out of control,
a spot to rest
and enjoy simple pleasures
with those you love


About semiblind

Bringing you stark existentialism since 1981.
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