Dropped! A quarter rolls
on cement, spins, and leaves
the periphery of my range.
Exclamation points are wasted
references to how you didn't feel
when I spelled happiness out,
you know that,

baby?

You could always come round
the corner so slow,
I'd give up looking for you
over spin and rinse, over a fold,
secretly learned to negate the iron,
of your collared, business casual
don't-forget-I'll-be-late shirts.

07/11/2006

Posted on 07/11/2006
Copyright © 2024 Angela Cotterman