at the carnival in Carlisle. He walked with
his soldier’s cap dangling in hand ever so lightly
that the wind could have swept it away beyond
war and his two khaki-buddies to either side.
One soldier squinted at a French dictionary,
preparing for hope. The other looked
for girls to take on the Ferris wheel
where he might revel in a kiss on high
as dusty shoes shuffled below between
Penny-Pitch games of copper-fun
and war’s bloody bullion to follow.
“I pick that one,” my future mom said to her sisters
after she tossed her Hoop-la around his
heart, and took her prize by the collar.
She won a man who would be gentle and
not fear her one-breasted chest. He'd be taken
in by her brightness, the pucker of her lips
and the growl in her laughter.
She picked a gentle, a non-contentious sort,
with his joy-jumping sperm that after the war
wiggled their way to ovum sliding down the carnival
midway. Colorful lights spun overhead
in their merry-go-round of life... she tossed the ring
around a man who possessed a love for children...
five who lived, in their sweet years of lovemaking.