The other day my Production boss, Randy, and I went to a local waterpark, Splashdown Beach “America’s Biggest Little Waterpark” in Fishkill, NY at the invite of the Splashdown boss guy, Steve, to grab some lunch as a thank you for the production work we do for them (well, Randy … Steve and Splashdown are “his” in our divvied up client work).
While waiting in the main lobby area I got a chance to be fascinated again, as I always am, at some of the oversized photos of old time beach and summer time fun, as well as older Splashdown pics that adorn the walls here and around the rest of the park.
Some of the older ones, of classic, happy, boardwalk and beach days made me think of Postcards that might have featured the same back when postcards were still sent.
(post post addition: I noted not too long after posting this new one of mine a prompt at dVerse Poets about “dreams” and writing of such. I thought this one could possibly fit that bill)
.
Postcard
You were beach and boardwalks
pictures of imagined
haughty days only others could afford
to ride Ferris Wheels and wave tall round smiles at excitedly milling insects below
or chance games of chance perchance
when you returned to earth
.
You were an untold story in vistas in the long
that stretched toward far off worlds over waves that
fell curved into dreams
and I curved with them
.
You were hand in almost
hand
pinkies
young
could I kiss her
if I were there, in a postcard
not be awkward in words
saladed with ummms and ahhhhhs
Would that be too forward an ask?
.
My feet lift happy
as I go nowhere with purpose
stilled
in my postcard
that one mustached swimmer who looks me in the eye
from the beach in a striped one piece
long dead
tells me the sky was perfect for postcard dreams
that day
sent for smiling envy
.
Your magic
your wonder
has been lost
but your bright pastels and pictured smells
were all the tells of where I wanted to be
stammering in possible young love in the sun
found history past
in a box
of memory
of postcards I collected
when I was young
.
Could I send you to a new found love?
Now?
Maybe?
Imploring “Wish you were here”
with colored pinks and blues and yellows and reds
that taste of stretchy taffy
smell of sticky cotton candy
feel of crispy skin sea salt
sound of creaky old wood beneath my feet
.
Could I step back?
For just a moment
recapture the wistful wish
of a card pictured boardwalked sunshined day sent in the mail?
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