Treasure Island

Justin Reamer

(2 October 1993 / Holland, Michigan)

A Conversation


We all sit around the table,
My family and me,
Talking amongst ourselves,
Having a conversation.
The convo flows with frequency,
Reaching different pitches,
Different frequencies,
Different wavelengths,
And different amplitudes,
And the volume rises and dwindles,
Depending on the mood.

We all sat outside,
On the deck in our backyard,
I sat on the far side,
Out in the sun,
And Sean, Elyse, and Mum,
Sat among the shade.

Sean sat opposite me,
Talking with his quick tongue,
And his incestuous, slandering language,
And his slang and his innuendos,
And his impudent language.
He insults everyone,
He mocks them,
And shows his arrogant attitude,
And shows off his dreaded pride,
Making himself look like a buffoon,
With his buck teeth,
And his alcohol-like Mountain Dew,
And his Nike cap,
And hsi plumb muscles,
And his Al Capone-wannabe language.
He looks like a complete fool,
And laughs like a horse,
So he looks like a wannabe gangster.

Elyse sits next to me,
Feeding the dogs,
And speaking calmly.
She is relaxed and easygoing,
Yet she presses herself a little bit,
Pushing a little abrasively.
Yet, she is relaxed,
And she is fairly calm.

Mum is pretty quiet,
Yet she speaks her mind,
She spoke with honesty,
And she always broke the ice,
And she also provided guidance,
And spoke wisely with others.
She is respectful,
And kind,
And attentive,
And she offered advice,
Whenever she managed.

The conversation continues,
And it shows intimacy,
With every character involved,
The communion is entertaining.

Submitted: Tuesday, January 28, 2014
Edited: Wednesday, January 29, 2014

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