The Shoop Shoop Song

A car backfires in the parking lot

faking a gunshot, and a flicker


Crosses the Tim Horton’s, riding radio

waves that hold some simulacra


Of Betty Everett’s voice, at once both

perfect and temporary, maintaining


It’s in his kiss with some authority,

in fact insisting on it. Is it in his eyes?


Oh no, you’ll be deceived. Is it in his sighs?

He’ll make believe. (The instrumental


Break, a weirdly detached marimba solo)

Is it in his face? No, no that’s just his charm


In his warm embrace? No, that’s just his arm.

Meanwhile, at my table I’m trying to make


A little sanctuary inside it all,

made out of a coffee, a newspaper


And someone’s collected poems. The world

presses in and  I can’t press back.


She’s singing about what’s real, what’s

in his kiss and everything I need


to know about being in love suddenly

is there – bang! it becomes clear


That the kiss Betty Everett’s singing about

is my kiss: it was my kiss that it was in.


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