The Summer of 1963

It was the high summer
of nineteen-sixty-three;
the weather was hot
and so was she.

We both were looking
for a youthful escapade.
The consequence was
that we strayed.

It was the generation
of 'make love not war';
with that philosophy
we couldn't agree more.

Her name was Lucille
but called herself Lucy.
The tales she related
were rather juicy.

Chased by an excited
passionate boss,
she wasn't disturbed
and was not cross.

She never thought
she was manipulated
as it was with relish
she capitulated

She recounted this
with absolute candour
then she proceeded
to show me her ardour.

Lucy was like a cat
on a hot tin roof.
She'd been voracious
and here was the proof.

I received a photo
of newborn baby Ruth.
Looks like me, she said.
Could that be the truth?

 
© Luigi Pagano 2024