Fucking Saturday

Sunshine on ice,
+++Frosted mason jar,
+++Vodka,
+++Split lime.
+++For once,
+++My brain is straight.
A man’s Pandora streams
+++Pieces of 90s sexual memory,
+++Before the kids,
+++When we breathed
+++Fucking & cigarettes
+++Fucking & pool
+++Fucking & fighting
+++Fucking & sleeping on the beach
+++And fucking,
+++More fucking,
+++And never enough
+++Fucking.
What does remembering
+++Do to you
+++On a middle-aged afternoon
+++Dividing shifts,
+++Bankruptcy calls,
+++Disconnect letters,
+++Our fury girl
+++++Who has only just begun
+++++To grope
+++++That same slick landscape:
+++++++The charged structure of
+++++++Perfectly squared love and
+++++++++fucking
+++++++++fucking
+++++++++fucking
+++++++++fucking
Protracted Saturdays.
+++A sweating mason jar,
+++Recycled grunge,
+++Watered-down sunshine.
As close as we come.

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