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Spring has
nestled under leaves
like a ghost living in a cardboard box.
The college students are drunk and roam
the streets like packs of wild memories
looking for the telephone booth where
we agreed to meet. Still picking out
my clothes, I'm as nervous as a seventh-
grader French kissing.
I caught a fly and tortured it until it breathed
your name, twice, and died with a whimper.
This got me thinking about air
and how you interrupt it, becoming a volcano
in the middle of the ocean.
The earth was shaking; magma throbbed like
a balloon filling with water at the kitchen tap.
Are you lonely too?
When I saw the mountains here,
I looked at my watch and remembered home.
You were most likely at the drive-in,
or roller skating, lost in your thoughts,
a butterfly loose in a monkey cage.
Meanwhile, I drifted on my back in the hotel
swimming pool. Nothing to do but dream. |
 
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