A Poem: JULY AFTERNOON

I say something that makes you laugh,

a crack about angry yoga people and cigarettes,

 

and you snap your head back into the wall,

which makes you laugh harder

 

but which hurts like a smack across the face,

I can tell.

 

With our overmilked coffees we stumble down the boards,

elbows brushing, hands unsure where to go;

 

we bite our tongues

as the holy rollers sing and sway to Jesus,

 

the irony of the gay man dancing among them

not lost on you and I,

 

just a couple of sinners,

holding on, letting go, searching for the right path

 

like the line of surfers bobbing softly,

patiently treading the 5 o’clock sea,

 

wishing their timing had been better

as the waves fade to foam the color of piss

 

and the orange summer sky

turns suddenly gray.

gray sea

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