Controlled Rebellion - Poem by Lori Boulard
Trouble always starts with a smile,
especially when punctuated with deep
hazel eyes. Come seven on a Saturday,
my heartbeat syncs with the song on the radio,
my left foot sinks as it races nightfall,
and the goblin within heads for
where the wild things are.
Wild nights – Wild nights! Were I with thee…
we would charge the alleys of hailstorm abandon.
But beware the badgering foe of fun:
the Lilliputian leash of children asunder.
A mental head-on collision ensues,
night racing past me twenty years to victory.
I surrender the sport and retreat to the driveway.
I am far from curfew,
and this is not my parents’ home.
Yet, I am doomed to restriction nonetheless.
Homebound, I look to my hero for salvation. Going deep
into his eyes, he awaits me on his motorcycle –
two-wheeled freedom revving my memory;
black chrome foreplay speeding toward graduation.
My domesticated rebel now rides a Toyota
that seats six, wired for every form of digital libido traveling.
Psychic in ways of a married man,
he picks up the scent of impending desperation.
With a sparkle of green punctuating his gaze,
he pours me a glass of my only surviving vice,
Comments about Controlled Rebellion by Lori Boulard
Read this poem in other languages
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
Still I Rise
The Road Not Taken
If You Forget Me
Edgar Allan Poe
Stopping By Woods On A Snowy Evening
I Do Not Love You Except Because I Love You
Do Not Stand At My Grave And Weep
Mary Elizabeth Frye