Good Golly is what some of my friends call me down in the quarter. Quarter of Louisiana where we speak that New Orleans swing. I like to go to clubs and spout out my happy jams about life.

In steps a fine forevermore looking so nice in a standard issue men’s fall green golf shirt and dress pants of navy. He looked to the microphone and events took place where his eyes met mine and I was shook.

Could I see the future? I had him in an Olive theme my casual eyes did not dip to flirt. Instead of coy I played it boldly. Flipped my weighted hair over my shoulder and announced my name to the crowd.

He smiled noticing that I gave him attention and a few other patrons entered the club. At command of the mic I just launched into whatever came to mind.

“Burst of blue raspberry

Sea of blueberry

It was Evening that she picked

The darkened blue spark tricked

Up a notch to no surprise

I can see sunset in your eyes

Smoky cheese and bubbly drink

She did not even think of the fellow in the rink.

Quebec is where he came from,

Blue raspberry wasn’t dumb

spoke French and loved to dance;

played hockey and missed his chance.

Blueberry passed the mark

Eyes made to see in the dark

Head spinning in the clouds…”

People got up and left as the next artist came up and started, “Licorice black brown eyes of my man…” and bought the house down. Nothing like that had ever been and they needed to move on.

Golly was a laughing stock for the day. Picking herself up and went on to do great things as a poet.