Pontchartrain Beach

When I was nine

Aunt Betty piled us into the Buick

and drove us unbelted

to the lakefront, where Ferris wheels

and roller coasters overlooked

the levee and stared out to sea.

Stem-heated in pigtails

and pedal-pushers and red Keds,

we rode the high-rise whiplash

and Cindy laughed so hard

she wet her pants and Aline’s eyes

grew big as the Creole moon,

and I went back three times . . .

–excerpt from “Pontchartrain Beach” in To Sip Darjeeling at Dawn by Donna Pucciani (Virtual Artists Collective 20011). First published in Mid-America Poetry Review.

Advertisements

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s