WildTypeWords

Wild-Type

“Wild-type,” she told him.
He didn’t understand.
He poured the wine and smiled at her
And reached out for her hand.

Her hand was tan and sun-kissed
From running on the beach.
Her skin was cool and lovely,
From sailing on dusk sea.

“The classic form of something,
As in nature it occurs.”
He laughed a bit and clamped his hand
Much harder upon hers.

“You know, like horses racing?
Or breezes full of hawk?
Like dancing in the thunder, or
Scaling steepest rock?”

The hawks he knew had cell phones;
His breezes were fast cars,
And when the thunder bellowed,
Inside, he watched the stars.

“Wild-type,” she told him.
“Come WITH me, see it real.”
The night was navy-blue and crickets
Clicked like roulette wheels.

A field is where she took him.
Orange lilies lay in wait.
An owl or two observed the pair;
A shadow watched their date.

“Dance with me?” she asked him.
“A wild-eyed, graceful waltz?”
He quipped: “No music have we.
How to keep the pulse?”

“The music’s in the moonlight.
Its metronome’s ideal!
The orchestra is whisper-led;
The dancefloor is grass-teal.”

He hesitated briefly,
And then he took her waist.
They danced in fields to rhythms
Wild-type, and perfect paced.

.MGW.