The Fountain Pen

The fountain of youth,

Where my brothers played

When they were four,

Is now all dry

From the long hot summer days

That gave them heat exhaust.

We used to skip through the water,

As the commercials elevated the watts,

To feel ourselves get lost

As the bass would swim like Ginsburg.

Drip, drip, drop.

The beat of our hearts, our thoughts;

Stoking under the pressure of an electrical fire

Drip, drip, dr

                     o

                        p.

(c) 2011