July Cool

July Cool

by BJ Neblett

© 2008, 2013

Burning July,

Sidewalks hot as

The tip of the smoldering punk

Clenched tightly between

Teeth and gum

Like some fancy cigar,

Because we were cool

In red hi-tops

And white T shirts,

Sleeves rolled

With empty Marlboro packs

Like the older dudes,

Because it was cool.

Cool as the locking blade

Knife ordered

From the last page of

A Green Lantern comic book.

It bounced in the back pocket

Of our torn jeans

Stained with rainbow badges

Proclaiming our cool

Bloody nose red

And fishing hole green

And the wide dirt brown stripe

From sliding into home.

Torturous July,

Stealthy pendulum

Hovering

Between youth and tomorrow,

When we were cool

And not yet cool.

Like the tarnished silver ring

That spent July sleeping

In that cool little pocket in my jeans.

I bought it from Woolworths

To give to Amy Johnson

In the flickering coolness

Of a Saturday

Matinee.

It felt warm

And full of promises,

But I didn’t give it to her

Because I was too cool

Or not cool enough.

And Chris called

Me a coward

And he was right,

So I bought popcorn

With my last four bits

Just to hear Amy’s

Freckled laughter,

And taste her hazel eyes

That made my stomach bubble.

Enchanted July,

When days exploded

With sunshine

And dandelions

And wishes,

Like the Black Cats

And Lady Fingers

We ignited with the punks

We pretended to smoke.

When shy fireflies

Sang in Morse code

And bold butterflies kissed.

When I got my first pair

Of Matador Boots

But had to wait

Till September

To wear them to school

Because they were cool,

And they made me cool.

Sultry July,

Of watermelon days

And transistor nights,

When one Willie Mays

Was worth two Richie Ashburns

Unless you lived in Philly,

That magical July

Our club house

In the woods

Became the smoking spot.

No more un-cool punks

No, we had Salems

From mom’s purse

And Chesterfields

For twenty five cents a pack.

They burned our throats,

Like the warm Schlitz beer

Timmy stole

From a neighbor’s garage.

Then the smoking spot

Became the drinking spot,

The same spot

Where I first touched Robin

In that spot,

And Amy knew

And killed me

With her hazel eyes

That made my stomach bubble.

Ineluctable July,

Of inky nights

Spent hanging out

Because we were cool.

Trouble matured with us

From play ground

To bowling alley

To pool hall.

We were too old

For the curfews

We ignored.

Too old and too cool,

But too young to drive,

Except for the cars

I stole

To impress the guys

And to win back

Amy Johnson

Who told me

I was just too cool.

Too cool for the July

That melted too soon

Like the tangerine sun

And the jealous moon

And Amy’s hazel eyes

That made my stomach bubble,

That cool July.

For Amy, wherever you are, thank you.