Unadorned and crammed looser than I want
The rattle is loud, and the promise is less.
I like the darker, denser ones
But I’ve always been like that
Lighter colored ones lack that certain sweetness
That comes from long hours in the sun
Or maybe that’s just wishful thinking
With no rhyme or reason.
Memories shake loose with each rattle—
I search for the right hole to cradle these sweet promises
Ready to give it up at the swing of a heavy hammer
And near misses of small fingers
Or a poke in the eye from hard bits.
Some say these are no longer local
And come from offshore as far as Australia
Maybe San Diego
But if local kine memories still come
It’s not fake Aloha.