Lonesome – Clementine

clem

Listen:: Unwritten Law :: Lonesome

Lonesome

                  His hands stuffed

                                in his pockets,

                    mine hooked

                               in my belt loops –

       we stand on my parents’ front porch.

                                                His hair is shaggier,

                                     jeans tighter,

              eyes just as blue.

                                                                  He heard I was visiting  :

                                                                              I still can’t say no to him.

                At Kirby Park  

                                     We wrap ourselves in an old

                               beach towel and roll down the dike,

                                          flirt like we are fifteen again.

            He shoves a clump of grass down my shirt

                             jerks  

             his hand back

                                                            unsure      

            if he should touch me

                                                         I’m not sure    either.



At Giant’s Despair

              we lay on rocks,

                contort our bodies  around

      the sharp points,  while trying to

                                      touch shoulders.

The cool rocks press

                 against our backs

                                     like last summer –

except tonight

               we don’t have much to say.

                                           Laughs and shouts

                                                     interrupt

                                                           our silence

                               as drunk kids stumble

                                         up on to the boulders.

                     He turns to me,

            Let’s get out of here.                                   
We sneak off the rocks.

Wait here a second,

      I watch him through the rearview mirror –

           crouch down on one side   :   pop up

                   run to the other   :   crouch down again.

He falls into the driver’s seat

   Here, he drops

         an air valve cap in

              my hand,

      Keep it forever,
   drunk kids shouldn’t be driving.

I look down

       at the crusty cap

 look up

          into his eyes

    and find the boy from last summer.

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