SUMMERTIME LOVE (circa 1950)

In the sweltering July heat

he follows her swaying Pocahontas braid

up the fire-tower trail, locked on like a

laser to her short white shorts,

undulating hips and the magnetic

wibble-wabble of her comely backside.

The scent of musk and ambrosia

floats him up the hill like a thistledown

blown in the wind, levitating like the

flying Maharishi, past an illuminated

field of black-eyed Susan, goldenrod

and magenta wildflowers.

Inhaling each other's presence,

they dreamily rest at the base

of the mountain's rainbow hued

waterfall, gorging on watermelon,

creating collages out of milky

white quartzite and broken fossils.

He lights cigarettes two at a time

like Paul Henried in "Now Voyager,"

and kisses her until dawn, tongues toying

with each other like fluttering birds.

Listening to echoes of "Roll out the Barrel"

from the tavern in the valley, they embrace,

counting vanishing shooting stars,

melding into sleep as one.

Milton P. Ehrlich