Coconut Dreams

I wake-up from coconut dreams
smelling like suntan lotion.
Wooden planks creak and complain
as I walk to the kitchen to make coffee,
to shake the sweet REM hangover.
The air ripples the nylon nightgown,
goose-bumps travel along thighs,
bunny-eared slippers stand to attention.
The poster of an anonymous beach
stares mockingly.
A low giggle swirls along the floor
stirring dust, underwear and socks
like a strange cake mix.
The wind shakes the trailer,
knocks the ashtray onto the stained carpet.
The big, used bed calls collect
and I accept the charges.



















Image via Ariel Rose.
"poem"Pia LeichterComment