Postcard (poem)

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?