1968

This is for The Poetry Jam's prompt, "Whoops!" The idea is to write a poem about something you experienced that you knew then or know now was a mistake.

















Nineteen-Sixty Eight


seen in blinking strobe,
fringes and long hair,
the smell of grass,
a woman on a table
squeezing juice
from the orange of herself,
the taste of fear mingled
with the the taste of beer.
This is no checkmate;
eighteen is a hoax.
This hazy hell is real --
falling from a cliff,
danger booming
like a crashing
Jefferson plane.