| Name
It had been a long night.
We’re indifferent, bar-stooled
the lemon slices ran out --
our familiar moments
extended
when there’s nothing
left to say waiting for the next set,
lured by conversations on the patio.
We map our way through the crowd,
a woman approaches
who I’d shared a booth, a pitcher
in college, her touch was like an ice
cube sliding the length of your sleeve.
This woman called me an angel.
I could not introduce her
for the life of me.
Bowling
Green
This dusty afternoon strolling
without purpose…the shut bakery,
shadows cast like a shawl
from the early August maple
if I were alone
I wouldn’t have come here,
partly regal, part young.
So, we pull away
onto the empty highway
I let you sleep
as I too forget
counting the deliberate mile markers.
What a funny thing
to tell someone you love,
sincerely, and in turn turning
into merely shedding ones skin,
a rattlesnake’s scales in the grass.
-- Beau Boudreaux
| Beau is a doctoral student at the University
of Wisconsin. |
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