My love begins at the gumball machine
There she stands, a vision in a teenage dream
Over by the gumball machine
Ponytail, mini skirt, white tank top
Summer just got way too hot!
By the gumball machine
By the gumball machine
Pretty as a picture, a high school queen
Making me wish I were James Dean
Cherry red lips, her smile so sweet
She’s all I need
Over by the gumball machine
By the gumball machine
Her friends stroll by, wave and say “hi”
A wiggle and a giggle
A bubble and a pop!
There they stop
By the gumball machine
By the gumball machine
I lose my nerve,
About to give up
Don’t know if she’s ready or not
She grabs her sweater, turns to go
It’s now or never, better get ready and,go,go,go
To the gumball machine
The gumball machine
I gather my nerve
Take a deep breath
Get it together, just one more step
To the gumball machine
The gumball machine
I tap her shoulder
She turns and smiles, oh so sweet
My heart turns to butter
I begin to sweat
It’s about to get better
At the gumball machine
The gumball machine
I take her hand
I’ve got a question that just can’t wait
I begin to shake
My high school ring I offer for her to take
A promise I’m wanting to make
By the gumball machine
The gumball machine
Our love, our live began
by the gumball machine
Now I hold her hand,
our son walks in
A giggle and a grin
His teenage queen smiles at him
There they go, hand in hand
To the gumball machine
The gumball machine
About the Creator
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More stories from Erika Cartwright and writers in Poets and other communities.
The Donoho
There is a special place you can go to leave your worries behind. Come on down and rewind, the porch has a spot just for you to rock and unwind. Sip sweet tea, here with us in middle Tennessee. Step back to a simpler place and time. Where walls hold stories of yesterday. Please come in, and sit for a bit, we’ll keep the fire lit. Visit the room where President Woodrow Wilson laid his weary head while passing through. Home style family suppers, I bet you never knew, at lantern light are normal here and very dear. Dine in the hall where Dinah Shore, stood right on that hardwood floor, and sweetly sang. Where is this magical place, you’d like to know? Look no further than the Donoho!
By Erika Cartwright5 years ago in Poets
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On the heels of grief, pain bears down hard. On the heels of death, pain awakens the quiet place between the end of our own life and now. Feeling anything is like seeing a film and in black and white, slow motion, all sound turned off. Just watching. Gritting teeth, awkward smiles and bloody red eyes move around, scanning the others who are feeling something I don't want to feel, but I do. Escapism is all I have ever known. ~
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