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.