Ursula - I can see why you loved this poem. I love it too. And reading it out loud makes it even better. Thanks! Stan Spiegel Portland, Maine ----- Original Message ----- From: "Ursula Stange" <Ursula@xxxxxxxxxx> To: <lit-ideas@xxxxxxxxxxxxx> Sent: Sunday, April 03, 2005 10:23 AM Subject: [lit-ideas] Re: APRIL POEMS (3rd) > THE BOYS ACROSS THE STREET ARE DRIVING MY YOUNG DAUGHTER MAD > > The boys across the street are driving my young > daughter mad. > The boys are only seventeen, > My daughter one year less, > And all that these boys do is jump up in the sky > and > beautifully > finesse > a basketball into a hoop; > But take forever coming down, > Their long legs brown and cleaving on the air > As if it were a rare warm summer water. > The boys across the street are maddening my daughter. > And all they do is ride by on their shining bikes, > Ashout with insults, trading lumps, > Oblivious of the way they tread their pedals > Churning Time with long tan legs > And easing upthrust seats with downthrust orchard > rumps; > Their faces neither glad nor sad, but calm; > The boys across the street toss back their hair and > Heedless > Drive my daughter mad. > They jog around the block and loosen up their knees. > They wrestle like a summer breeze upon the lawn. > Oh, how I wish they would not wrestle sweating > on the green > All groans, > Until my daughter moans and goes to stand beneath > her shower, > So her own cries are all she hears, > And feels but her own tears mixed with the water. > Thus it has been all summer with these boys and my > mad daughter. > > Great God, what must I do? > Steal their fine bikes, deflate their basketballs? > Their tennis shoes, their skin-tight swimming togs, > Their svelte gymnasium suits sink deep in bogs? > Then, wall up all our windows? > To what use? > The boys would still laugh all awrestle > On that lawn. > Our shower would run all night into the dawn. > How can I raise my daughter as a Saint, > When some small part of me grows faint > Remembering a girl long years ago who by the hour > Jumped rope > Jumped rope > Jumped rope > And sent me weeping to the shower. > Ray Bradbury > > > > I've loved this poem for years and it says SPRING in capital letters and > we need to hear that here as it snowed overnight and the wind is > whistling and the rafters are rattling and the garbage can lids are > sailing along the street and the telephone lines are swaying and humming > and no birds sing. > > Ursula > in North Bay > ------------------------------------------------------------------ > To change your Lit-Ideas settings (subscribe/unsub, vacation on/off, > digest on/off), visit www.andreas.com/faq-lit-ideas.html > ------------------------------------------------------------------ To change your Lit-Ideas settings (subscribe/unsub, vacation on/off, digest on/off), visit www.andreas.com/faq-lit-ideas.html