At The Shoppe

Written for:  Imaginary Gardens With Real Toads  Fireblossom Friday, “Escape To the Past”
Take a look at these pictures and find one that speaks to you and write from that.


He spins around on
a red vinyl seat
that crowns a chrome
pedestal. Drink
some of your malt,
baby. I got two straws.
Stop staring at me
as if I am a ghost.

She smiles, eyes wide
as she blinks back tears.
Her fears are genuine.
How can he look calm,
has he no qualms about going
to war? He looks handsome
in uniform, though she still
finds it a shock–his joining up.

You will wait for me, baby, right?
His steely blue eyes fix
on her face, gathering details
to take along. Their song
plays on the jukebox. He says
it will be a short war.
She hopes so.

About purplepeninportland

I am a freelance poet, born and bred in Brooklyn, New York. I live with my husband, John, and two charming rescue dogs–Marion Miller and Murphy. We spent eight lovely years in Portland, OR, but are now back in New York. My goal is to create and share poetry with others who write, or simply enjoy reading poetry. I hope to touch a nerve in you, and feel your sparks as well.
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12 Responses to At The Shoppe

  1. kim881 says:

    Beautifully retro!


  2. Brendan says:

    This is a great moment, pressed in the book of memory like a spring leaf.


  3. Alas girl, the boy beside you will never be the same. Short or long is not what matters it’s the war.


  4. Sherry Marr says:

    Oh those gallant lads and dewy-eyed women. You took me right back, like a well loved old movie.


  5. Gillena Cox says:


    much love…


  6. coalblack says:

    Everybody always thinks wars will be short, but they rarely are. You’ve boiled it all down two just two people, both scared but one showing it and the other trying to cover with bravado.


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