To ABBA

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You were a break from my childhood
of George Jones and Tammy Wynette,
from the punk rock
my brother would bang out while I tried to study,
a break from the world,
my world,
my thoughts.

You were what candy-colored dreams
were made of.
You fought for space inside my head
as I drove the Three Mile Bridge to the beach,
with the balmy gulf breeze blowing in my unhearing ear,
so that the wind was the feel,
and you,
the sound.

One thought on “To ABBA

  1. Pingback: Summer Writing Mini-Workshop: On Writing Poetry | Sarah Lea Stories

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