after the storm… another storm

something of a memory of you stepping in front
of that over-sized, segmented window, and the sun

hitting your long yellow hair and transforming it into
a halo-mane, or
something. truth be stated, I lost it a little when you said

you wanted to get into realty. there is no romance there,
or between us for that matter
so why does it matter?


a pre-teen in a pink tank doing perfect cartwheels and handstands
while a sibling of ambiguous sex blithely waddles around in a diaper
and over-sized Batman tee,
copying movements as best as her little body can muster. in my head

you start talking about urban planning, or whatever the hell you called
your major.
if I had chased off the calves in the road, and you had seen, what,
would you at least entertain the thought of allowing me to talk to you
about kissing? but I ramble.


and you’re just one more sassy girl who wants nothing to do with me,
and my surprise is palpable, like pulp in orange juice,
or seeds in an overripe watermelon: it’s offensive in every way.

you were so sharp with me, and my mind is so off-kilter when
it comes to affection, I swore you wanted my company and more;
but maybe this shut-down is part of your mean flirtatious game.
a fool can dream, an idiot can wonder, I keep having nightmares.

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