I picked up the ticket and thought of you.
Your hands actually.
…your fingers played with the threads of your cut offs attempting to explain why your brother thought putting a 6 inch length of garden hose in the exhaust of his truck was a “good idea”?
…you put your palms to your ears while my all of “just-turned-15-last-Tuesday” self boldly proclaimed that, “BY GOD WE WILL LISTEN TO CULTURE CLUB MOTHER FUCKER!”?
..they snaked up my knee attempting to graze “2nd base” on their way 3rd?
Hope springs eternal.
I’m used to it.
Used to your random body parts flashing across my mind
like a blown fuse
an exploding light bulb.
Now you see me.
Now you don’t.
Today it was your hands.