SPIN THE BOTTLE
While our soldiers were bogged down
in the swirling sands of
struggling to outwit the sly Desert Fox,
on the home front, “Spin The Bottle,”
was a gateway to delicious first kisses.
Elsie, the Borden cow winked lasciviously
as a glistening bottle whirled, a compass
searching for magnetic North spun
round and paired them off.
Giggling girls, gussied up, pink bows
on pig-tails, boys with Vitalis slicked
pompadours, combs at the ready.
Too old for “Pin The Tail On The Donkey,”
or dunking for crunchy McIntosh apples
with imbedded nickels and dimes,
birthday parties had segued to a new plateau.
With hair sprouting in private places
an “élan vital” stoked brand new sensations
that could not so easily be quelled.
Curiosity about emerging bosoms, suddenly
made girls look interesting, no longer
shunned, teased or chased around the block.
Cloistered in a darkened closet they
found their lips were made for kissing.
Quivering, pressed together, they sparked
a glowing heat, sweet crimson oozing globs
warmed the spine from the coccyx
to a dizzying brain, wondering how
to hide a tumescent tent pole when they
stepped into the light to resounding applause.