even the trees look tired
the sad brown grass about to combust
the Low Rider Oldies are singing smoothly for the cool of dusk
It’s tempting to start the drink now
but with the sun this high
I’d be laid out with the dogs
panting
a gin and tonic sweating a glass with lime
reminds me of last night
how the boy was lapping me
how he grinds into me
my hips a bowl of oatmeal
butter melting the middle
how he always finds a deeper spot
then my phone rings
and I need to go home
make up stories
explain the stoned look
in my eye.
#
Cassandra Dallett occupies Oakland, CA. Cassandra writes of a counter culture childhood in Vermont and her ongoing adolescence in San Francisco Bay Area. She has published in Slip Stream, Sparkle and Blink, Out Of Our, Up The River, Hip Mama, and The Criminal Class Review, among many others. A full-length book of poetry Wet Reckless will be released from Manic D Press in the spring of 2014.
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