First Love

First Love

The preachers voice dust dry
In the June warm morning
Even the crucified Christ
Is looking for release
~
I plan thoughts of revenge
With a Sunday afternoon fast ball
My eyes wander to find beauty
Among a garden of floral hats
~
Now on the promise of a fleeting smile
I hang my daydreams
A stumble of words lie discarded
In screwed balls of pencil thin poetry
~
Raise your pillowed head
To think of me
My love is on the night wind
That curtsies at your open window

A word of explanation on the 'Sunday fast ball' In England many of our clergy play village cricket, I won't bore you with the rules, so if you are an American think of baseball and a beamer aimed at your head.