Robert K. Johnson
Born in New York City (in Elmhurst), I lived in several different places there but have memories only of The Bronx (off Fordham Road). Then my family moved out "on The Island"—to Lynbrook, where we stayed till I graduated from Hofstra (then a College). Several years after my wife, Pat, and I married, we, plus our two children, settled in the Boston area and have remained there (except for my daughter, Kate, who has lived in Manhattan for quite a while). I have been writing poetry since I was twelve (many moons ago).
Two Teen Girls
talk at a higher
and higher pitch
as they walk still faster
toward the excitement
of the two waiting boys
they like so much.
It was our freshman year—at a play
rehearsal--that we first saw each other
and stopped at once to say, "Hello"...
at a party after the last performance,
our nuzzling words muted the noise
around us—till we left and parked
to watch the dark sky whiten...one day
our laughter made your right hand shake
while it held a--what device?--and tried
to curl my long eyelashes...alone
on New Year's Eve, we sipped champagne
while we took turns impromptu-dancing
naked for each other—
you let that classmate's stroking words
woo you to leave the unmapped island
our love lived on? and how could I
allow my anger to punish me
so many years by locking away
my memories of those brimming days
-previously published in The Chaffin Journal
Like Guests Who, even
though catered to,
finally bid "Good night"
to their party host:
the decades' good health
of some part of your body,
despite all your efforts,
decides to take its leave,
then the health of another
and another part—
both, once quite reliable—
abandon you too.
Then so does time.
©2016 Robert K. Johnson