Piccadilly

A poem, hmmm,

hugging your newly won
green stuffed Kermit
to your pale blue tank top
and playfully tonguing
his black and white button eye.

you take an idea
and you wrap your mind
around it, right?

like they had twirled
your pink cotton candy
around the white spindle
from which you now plucked
sweet puffs of metaphor
as the Ferris wheel stopped
at the top.

It’s a little piece of peace
up here,

still a quieter pop, crack, pop
from the shooting gallery
and an occasional whistle
from Tom Thumb.

we swung the metal love seat
to the calliope of Lovin Spoonful
and Kermit grinned when
the humid August air
thick with caramel and crackerjack
whooshed your denim skirt
further up your thigh,

providing a whole new view
of the carnival below
which now needed only a title
and a great ending.