Waggle and Jounce
Out on the lake
the whitecaps leap,
old lions shot in midair.
Not far from the water
I sit on a knoll
and open your letter.
You're in Sacramento now
singing for money.
Here in Chicago,
on hot August nights,
I lick in my dreams
at the scoops
in your shoulders.
I prefer them to ice cream.
In a week I'll fly out
and salute your nipples.
Long may your buttocks
waggle and jounce.
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Comments about this poem (Waggle and Jounce by Donal Mahoney )
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