Friday, July 31, 2009

Ringworm Summer

On the porch that noon, we
share matches, light alcohol
from a blue bottle in our wounds.

Your purple wetsuit mended
with flag material, my mother's
bikini tied and tied again, we

urge our rented ponies into
the surf, into the blue muck
dirtied by Wednesday's rain.

Coral the color of an old scar
tears a smile into your arm;
fish, sharp paparazzi, gather to lick.

2 comments:

Crafty Green Poet said...

ouch, I felt that last stanza!

Very vivid poem....

Dustin M. Flickinger said...

vivid, I agree. I really like this poem.