On the Boulevard
Shauna McGaha
We pulled over and continued talking
in tliat confused argument
where neither was angry at the other-
just about the topic at hand.
We should have been sitting near cool, damp sands,
listening while Earth's heartbeat pulsed on the shore,
and curled together in hooded sweatshirts,
at Surfer's Point just below the rivermouth.
Instead there we were, sitting tensely in the truck's cab,
while the sun sank below the storefront
on some sad, dirty boulevard in the city.
You were far off in a liaae of words
of dollars only stretching so far, not far enough;
you weren't much more than aft echo to me by then.
Still, we allowed the argument to have its sway
with our voices and tones
because we always know it'll be less than a memory
in our good morning, sandpaper kisses.
There was a strange line of shadow and light
cutting through your cheek,
just above that terribly wonderful scruff
that still reminds me of our first kiss,
I hadn't realized we were finished talking
until the line had disappeared
and you were left in shadow
and me reaching to see where you had drifted to.
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