Driving past the park on Sunday,

a sudden memory from years ago:

Like a new bride, I wore white,

a bright white sweatshirt. It

was the worst possible choice—

might as well have flashing neon—

for sneaking in well past curfew

to fool around with my not-even-really

boyfriend there in the dark

on a see-saw, except that nothing

really happened, just a kiss

or two and some silliness,

and then a quiet, edgy conversation

when, by the time I finally got

into it, he no longer was.


Copyright 2015

T. Allen Culpepper


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