Types of Poetry

There are many Types of Poetry. This is one type - A poem about young love – and the many mistakes we make. Some might consider this not a poem, but then... people can think what they wish.
Types of Poetry

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Janice

by
Richard A. McCullough

Janice, a name that echoes in the hallways, her tread still through thick rugs, Room 12 and 14, where we drank that night with the lights down low and the radio picking up Phoenix, Arizona, a thousand miles away.

She was sitting on the bed in her Levi's and T-shirt. She hadn't even changed. Dusty spots on crossed knees accentuating the lines of her legs. Lovely Janice, smiling, white teeth sparkling, in moonlight diffused by street light.

The talk of the excavation, Mike and Tom, rapping endlessly on into Phoenix radio subtle love music. My feet had grown unsteady with vodka and beer. I sat beside her, spilling dust from the excavation, ancient history mixed with moonbeams through the half drawn shade.

Someone outside walking, their footsteps clattering, clattering, clattering through the window shade, walking there beneath the palms, between the well-kept ribbons of sprinklered grass, and neon in the next block, crackling through the autumn rustle, rattling, noisily blinking, and her lap became so comfortable to my blearing head.

I could hear her heartbeats. She was smoking a cigarette, without attention, and the click of heels had drawn my mind from the folds of her shirt, sweaty and stained, and the smell of cool grass flitted through the window beneath the shade.

"Let's take a walk."

Palm leaves, rippled moonlight, and neon cool blue, and we walked and found a cool park, laying in the grass, counting stars.

"A shooting star! Did you see it?"

"Yes, I saw it."

She wasn't even watching, her eyes fastened to my face, drunk with moonlight and gin. And another one. She wasn't watching. Neither was I. Her eyes were enough starlight, smiling at me in the darkened park.

"I love you." I was drunk. "You know that? I love you."

"Yes," and the trees in a soft breeze rustled back our surrender.

Types of Poetry



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Write on...

Richard A. McCullough

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