Will you?

Will you come for the fourth of July?
We can watch the fireworks in the sky
Lighting up and blasting all around
With merriment and electricity
In the eruption you whistle to me.

Feel the hot air gently warm thee
Bake under a hot summer sun
We can watch an old b&w movie
Loretta Young marries David Niven
He was pretending to be a magician,

We can have a honeymoon in Hawaii
Where I can improve my English
Splashing around in a blue sea
Of sublime tropical tranquility
Sorry, this poem is not finished

Please excuse the lack of iambic meter

Sappy Silje

Silje kept a Swedish flag inside her pocket
She lost her paratrooper charm and locket
and decided to take a walk down memory’s lanes
where her favorite brownstone had become a school,
her first bar was now a Laundromat – the place
where she had learned about drinking to be cool.

She remembered the time from a trip long ago
driving too fast down the Pacific Coast Highway,
her mother taking hold of her hands gasping
as she must have said at least three Hail Mary’s.

Silje had loved to listen to songs and guitar,
Neil Young feeling Helpless, Janice howling
A "piece of my heart" and cry cry baby blues,
Melanie with her songs of peace by the fire.
A photo of her father near the big geyser.

She dreaded each St. Patrick’s Day:
“If you’re sad it’s the Nordic way”
“If you’re sensitive it’s the Irish in you”
This is what she had been told --
Dramatics sort of being part of her mold.
all the while trying to keep a stiff upper lip
as her Grandma insisted to be as a Britisher.