Walked Out This Morning

His voice is velvet –

the glide of an oyster.

 

He sings about the

uncertain certainty

of seeing you

again.

 

I lick my sandwich greasy fingers

and smell the musty auditorium.

400 teenagers, voicing a raucous

over the beautiful vengeance

of

eating shit pie.

 

Their heads are the skyline

I gaze at.

 

 

The ferry lumbers

toward the dock, and

I recall all the sunny days I’ve seen.

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