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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