Tom and Alicia

She rode on his bike’s handlebars—
They’re as steady as a dangling limb;
Side-to-side she swayed, like a boat on choppy waters,
Moving to an unknown rhythm.

She screamed…

Barely could she distinguish her surroundings;
All she saw was the colours,
Like being inside an abstract painting—
An anachronism in the world of its creator.

There was a chill in the air;
Feeling her shivering, the boy said to his girlfriend,
“Hold on, baby, we’re almost there.”

They were going to a clinic;
Alicia had gashed her leg on the concrete,
And Tom—with his own hoodie—fashioned a tourniquet,
Hoping it’d provide some semblance of relief.

By not wearing his hoodie,
Tom himself could’ve gotten sick—
But to him, continuing to wear it would’ve been a far greater risk.

When they finally arrived,
Tom held the bike upright,
And put Alicia’s arm around his neck;
Gently he picked her up, carried her inside,
His face wrought with fright,
As they approached the front desk—

“M’am, my girlfriend hurt herself—
Please—PLEASE HELP!”

The receptionist called the physician,
And they were told he’d be with them shortly—

Sitting her on his lap, he held her hand,
Rocking her comfortingly,
At which time she said, “Can I ask you a question?”
“Of course,” replied he;
“You think you’ll have better transportation…
When I’m pregnant with and set to deliver our baby?”

“I hope so!” he laughed. “I’m going to try.”

—Kevin B. Waring

She Likes Them More

Sitting in my silver Audi,

I noticed out the corner of my eye,

A silhouette moving slower than a freight train,

Heaven, have mercy --

As I'm sure you guys will all agree --

Waiting for a girl to get ready can drive a man insane...

Gently the wind blew,

As night darkened its hue,

And eagerly I anticipated her door opening;

When finally she was in view,

I exclaimed, "Sacrebleu!";

That which I took in far exceeded breathtaking.

And not to be impolite,

I joined her under that faint moonlight,

Sweetly escorting her to my car,

"No babysitting tonight,"

I said, "Even if it makes you blithe;
Just relax, amiga -- let me be your chauffeur."


The taillights' crimson glare,
Shimmered upon the thoroughfare,
Wet from an earlier downpour;
And the scent of Garnier,
That wafted from her hair,
Collided with pungent petrichor.


I turned the radio on,
To the sound of James Durbin,
Singing that Carole King cover;
But looking in her direction,
I noticed a wistful mien,
Prompting me to pull my car over.


"I shouldn't be out having fun;
I should be home with the 'little ones!'"
She said to me emphatically;
It was midway through my three-point turn,
That I had the stark realization:
"She likes the kids more than me."


Now, I was despondent...
But my friend's happiness was salient;
Indeed there was nothing like seeing her smile --
To make her content,
After seeing her upset,
Nothing gives me a greater thrill.


Before I took her back,
I filled her breadbasket,
And got something for the kids as well,
In spite of the setback,
The night was still perfect,
For I was in her presence, if only for a little while.


The feeling was bittersweet,
As I turned onto her street,
Her house in my ken;
When we arrived, I opened my mouth to speak,
To wish her a good night's sleep,
And that's when she invited me in...


(We...babysat...together.)




- Kevin B. Waring