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Ashlyn Rimsky Jan 2020
when i tell my mom
"i have a date tonight"
she has one comment:
"whatever you do,
DON'T wear THAT
old sweater
with the geese all over
or THOSE
brown horse hoove shoes
CLANGING like the kentucky derby
with each step
those ones that the bottoms fell out of"
i sigh, wrap the phone cord around my neck
HANG it up, on the shelf
my hope, dignity, cares, whatever
LOOK, a chest
masked by geese flock
feet turned to hooves
a MATING DISPLAY
that only ever works
the lady in the mirror
when she looks
she sees the tips of mountain tops
etched in leather
is taken back to times
where the only sound
was the clank of boots on ground
        the scrape of rocks
        sun on face
where the only sound
was geese on the water
        no where else to be
        but right here, right now
where the only sound
was the ooh and aahs
         of my best friend
         with a big pearly smile
         when i dug it out
         of the giant blue bin
         at the pay-by-the-pound
         laughing while we spun
         theories of eldery ladies
         of its PAST
she mouths to me
"i like your birdleneck"
i mouth to her
"i like you"
and walk out the door

— The End —