A Crush in Dream TimeLea Graham
You know you should say fruta bomba but whisper papaya because it’s nasty, & laughing, you’re out the door walking along rain & mystery, repeating Teaching! Schedule! over city grates twisted, rusted— Where, where’s the ardor? Why this rush & rigor, this cumulo-nimbus, this quandary elsewhere? Shouldn’t liaisons appear in rooms with balconies & languor? Why not Pedro with his bright teeth, open collar, cupping history lessons to an ear— Who knows what will expire in an hour, who knows if there was a window or if it was flocked in neighbors that night, gathered in blackouts, one generator, telenovela’s reruns— Were sherry glasses laid out like a sickle? An electric life-sized saint? Was a small child in red panties outside your door whispering what’s this what’s this?
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