For play is the key
to eternity.
Linda, which was not her name,
returned last night, 70 years later,
a young lady, with large round breasts
and in a transparent blouse, blond and
oozing sap, grown up but forever young.
We hugged and she pressed her
pelvis into mine and the others tried to ignore
what clearly was a dream deferred
and pretended to chat as we squirmed and
discovered the hidden toys in a box unopened
until last night, 70 years after.
Her sister Beverly (not her real name) had come
along, also young and unexpectedly thin, a beauty I only recognized
too late. She was actually my cousin who lived with us in the trailerin the backyard, for that was where poor relatives lived
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