RED LOLLIPOPS

i am not a poet

by the time you shouted back there were six feet between you 
(eight, if you counted mine)
you were lucky, back then
that the wind blew your voice to the source 

i wanted to bottle that luck
somewhere between one hill and the next  
and sneak spoonfuls of it 
as everyone else slept 

i couldn’t though, so i settled for the sugar 
red that day, though i thought of you as blue 
held tight in plastic casing
that you could crack, but never would 

so when, on the drive home, i fell asleep 
head knocking against the window 
my stomach fizzed from the unfamiliar taste 
and i swore i was between those hills 

i think i pictured you there
in a year or two or twenty 
still sticky from pocket money treasure 
though mine gathered debris in the car door

and i’m sorry i forgot that dream that i’m not quite sure i had 
(though i’m sadder to remember)
sorry too that i didn’t yet know to bottle 
and sugar is only ever just that