Poetry

Outdoors, Thinking I’m Slick

Isolation is a gift. So is community.

Photo by Sasha Matveeva on Unsplash

I’m once again scouring
for a place
to sit.

the most private place
short of climbing a tree
is the bench on the west side
of the school by
the red pillar.

a nearby peeling fence
is very appealing
and ramshackle.
grass, neon, and voluptuous
after the rain.

under the binaural beats,
I hear students repeating
my name like I
just climbed out
of my limousine
en route to
my movie’s release.

Summer, whom I’ve given
a shell necklace,
comes and taps me on
the shoulder and flees.
I discern her
unique feet sound
and smile.

when I get up, they surround
me, ask me how it was,
and fill my hands with dandelions
and…