Haze
"I invited shrimp if that's ok.?";
That's what he calls his little brother,
"sure , if you want too"
He's teaching her how to drive today,
The car windows are down and it's
really warm for May.
She is wearing blue jean frayed shorts,
white cotton pull over, peasant style ,
the kind that straps won't stay up on
sandals reveal new manicure in hot pink.
Her hair is pulled up off her neck with a
claw, tendrils a drift.
She's never met her boyfriend's brother,
she expects young, gangling, annoying.
She starts the engine and honks the horn,
the car smells of octane and dust motes
and heavy aftershave. She likes the smell.
The door opens and poetic attitude plops
into the front seat.
Shrimp is smooth, buff and not at all what she
expected.
He slams the door and she starts to drive.
The young men exchange words,
brother barbs
she is driving as if she had always known how.
Onto the highway, the breeze feels good,
it's lazy and hazy in the car, she leans
forward too short in the seat to see well,
she adjusts the wheel.
A strap falls from her shoulder,
with a matching manicured hand
she slides it back up, no tan line.
Shrimp is feeling the heat,
blowing hard through his teeth,
feels the energy drip in the air,
looking at the girl,
his brother's girl.
She's got great shoulder blades,
long neck, he leans back arms thrown over the
seat, chest puffed out like he owns the world,
watching, watching his brother's girl.
He sees the strap drop, the retrieve , her leaning
up, a little more of her back exposed,
she's hot and glistening in the heat,
lovely shoulders,
great angles.
He pulls out his pen, leans over to her, pulls her
strap down again, the breeze wafts of her perfume
around him, the front seat, she, smells like baby powder
and jasmine.
Hand on the wheel , hand to hold up the front of her blouse
she's helpless and he pulls the elastic down in the back.
stretches it to her waist.
Brother sits in the back watching,
doesn't say a word.
Turns his head to the right and stares
at the landscape through the dusty window.
Time has disappeared in the front seat,
the atmosphere has changed and it's
thick and hard to breathe
he
starts writing on her back with his pen,
and in his mind he reads aloud as he writes
across her baby smooth brown skin.
I heard his voice read as he writes
and in his head it said;
"Haze, rain on my art, pick a color, pull it apart"
Sep 22, 2015
Sep 22, 2015 at 1:10 PM UTC
Haze
"I invited shrimp if that's ok.?";
That's what he calls his little brother,
"sure , if you want too"
He's teaching her how to drive today,
The car windows are down and it's
really warm for May.
She is wearing blue jean frayed shorts,
white cotton pull over, peasant style ,
the kind that straps won't stay up on
sandals reveal new manicure in hot pink.
Her hair is pulled up off her neck with a
claw, tendrils a drift.
She's never met her boyfriend's brother,
she expects young, gangling, annoying.
She starts the engine and honks the horn,
the car smells of octane and dust motes
and heavy aftershave. She likes the smell.
The door opens and poetic attitude plops
into the front seat.
Shrimp is smooth, buff and not at all what she
expected.
He slams the door and she starts to drive.
The young men exchange words,
brother barbs
she is driving as if she had always known how.
Onto the highway, the breeze feels good,
it's lazy and hazy in the car, she leans
forward too short in the seat to see well,
she adjusts the wheel.
A strap falls from her shoulder,
with a matching manicured hand
she slides it back up, no tan line.
Shrimp is feeling the heat,
blowing hard through his teeth,
feels the energy drip in the air,
looking at the girl,
his brother's girl.
She's got great shoulder blades,
long neck, he leans back arms thrown over the
seat, chest puffed out like he owns the world,
watching, watching his brother's girl.
He sees the strap drop, the retrieve , her leaning
up, a little more of her back exposed,
she's hot and glistening in the heat,
lovely shoulders,
great angles.
He pulls out his pen, leans over to her, pulls her
strap down again, the breeze wafts of her perfume
around him, the front seat, she, smells like baby powder
and jasmine.
Hand on the wheel , hand to hold up the front of her blouse
she's helpless and he pulls the elastic down in the back.
stretches it to her waist.
Brother sits in the back watching,
doesn't say a word.
Turns his head to the right and stares
at the landscape through the dusty window.
Time has disappeared in the front seat,
the atmosphere has changed and it's
thick and hard to breathe
he
starts writing on her back with his pen,
and in his mind he reads aloud as he writes
across her baby smooth brown skin.
I heard his voice read as he writes
and in his head it said;
"Haze, rain on my art, pick a color, pull it apart"
