Centennial Nickel

 

If I had a centennial nickel for all the lips I wanted to kiss,

I’d be rich beyond reason

and that might just

quell the

questions

and the questioning

about what I’ve been missing.

 

The faces shine before me,

like a centennial nickel,

those sometime friends

those would be lovers

and

could be strangers;

those passers-by who

smelled delicious.

 

The boys at the

boxcar parties

on frozen December nights –

clear and crisp

stars shining

like centennial nickels.

 

The smug alt chicks at the

closing night parties

on frigid April nights –

when the thaw should have started.

Backstage their desire shone

like centennial nickels

but now,

in the cold light of day,

I was “too straight.”

 

And so it would be for me,

caught in between,

wishing I had a centennial nickel for all the lips I wanted to kiss.

(c) R. L. Elke 2016