Good Times

January 14, 2008
By Adym Cooney, Buffalo Grove, IL

I could write a poem
That no one could tell was for you.
It would be about
The rain falling on us
As we sat in the cold, blue seats
When everyone else went
To buy beer and brats.
Or about the velvet, reclining red seats
We sat in to watch the big white screen
The gum underneath as hard as a baseball
Like the one that we threw through the stained glass window
While the loud laughter of the person
Behind us screeches like
The worn out brakes of a beat up car.
Or about the cracking of our knuckles
As we move our hands up and down
While the laughter flows out of our mouth
Like the traffic on the freeway
As silence falls over the friends standing next to us
Their eyebrows raised and arms in the air.
It could be about the arguments
With the Cubs fans wearing that bright shade of blue that hurts my eyes
Or those Vikings wearing that girly tint of purple and yellow
While we argue the supremacy of our home in the windy city.
I could write about the black rubber of the trampoline
Burning in the summer sun
We jump on to touch the sky.
It could be about the broken trunk we hear
Energetically bouncing around like kids jump roping
On the black cement of a playground
As we drive in my dent filled black car
On our way to football practice.
But no one would know it was for you.

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