Fingertips

FINGERTIPS

Sultry summer night, and the neighborhood
sleeps,
or watches TV quietly indoors,
sprawled on their couches, cold beer in hand,
while children and newspapers
litter the floors,
and mosquitoes buzz by them, and they
mutter their “Damns”,
but tomorrow's too near, with its
rerun of chores.

Their warm yellow table lamps
mellow the night,
but they, with their fly swatters,
beer and TV’s,
know nothing of what's happening
out there in the dark,
on the porch, on the sidewalk, and
under the trees,
the delicate shy fingers of friendship
have touched,
and love’s quickened to life
like the summer night’s breeze.

Oct.1968