Come In? Poem by Herbert Nehrlich

She calls it contemplative, and,
so do the kids, they know,
from countless years of course.
It's when I daydream right at five
the happy hour, when I come alive.

I sat there in my well worn chair,
quite still, no motion countered the idyll,
Wild Turkey, aged eight years, on ice
I saw you there, my Rachel. 'Well, how nice
to meet you in these depths my sensuous friend, '
she answered, bubbling, saying nothing to the end.

Don't worry, Ann, she did not drown, no way.
She kissed me from the surface with her agile tongue.
Soon we were bathing in the stuff. Jeesus I say,
back then I would have been, quite rightly, hung.

I see her everywhere and feel the need to kiss,
she always smiles or is it just a grin?
It bugs me though that there is nought amiss
and she will always wave to me and say, come in.