My sister will often call me up and say, "Rissy, I wrote a new poem!" And most of them are too good not to share with the rest of the world. She is a bit shy about them, though, so, I suggested doing a piece every now & then featuring one of her poems. This is one she wrote after I told her about a revelation I had with a friend that everywhere makes people want to kiss-- crowded museums, funerals, public restrooms... just everywhere. My sister's poem makes me think, maybe it's not the place, after all. People just want to kiss all the time.
It Doesn’t Matter Where
by Brianna K.
A gas station, old
paint chipping from pumps,
plastic covered food,
buzzing cooler for drinks
at a bar, on a block
of a New York street,
smoky air, loud drunks,
sad drunks, some not drunk at all
under neon sign
for a subway station,
rumble of approaching train,
bongos beat for change
from pockets of rushing people
catching the doors
revolving into a museum
of art lined walls,
sculptures magnificent and simple,
the gas station is framed on canvas
and they stare, seemingly mesmerized,
comfortable, in love as lip caresses lip
and they slip into each other
and they’re kissing in all these places.
