This Poem was Submitted By: Doris C. Swearingen On Date: 2000-07-26 21:31:40 . . . Click Here To Mail this Poem to a Friend!

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Isobel

Isobel, Ford truck, circa 1950 climbs Archer Hill at Tortoise pace. Just around the next curve a lane slashes to the left, offers a secluded place. We first found love there on Isobel's ample bed atop Aunt Lou's patched comforter. We laughed at how aghast she would be if she knew. Isobel wore red then. She was my main competitor until I wisely learned to share the grease and grime the time you gave to her. It was budding Spring when you chose her new coat. Easter egg green gave her some jazz. I loved it! What fun we had whizzing through town, windows rolled down, drunk on the joy of love at seventeen. Isobel is forty now.  When I miss you most I drive through town with the windows rolled down remember the green of your eyes that day, the last time I hugged you. The late afternoon sun warms your bronze marker, even here, your love soaks my heart. 

Copyright © July 2000 Doris C. Swearingen


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