His journey did not consist of much at all...
Gary Robinson

His journey did not consist
of much at all, a bottle of
Sambuca, a sweaty grin, and
a big thumb inside his jeans.

The yellow drapes of her room
blew in where they drank and spoke.
From time to time she scratched
her hips with a lazy fingernail.

After a while they stopped talking.
The air was furious with summer.
They watched each other warily,
the yellow drapes blowing over them.

Published in Out/Words #3 (view contents)
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