we used to pick blackberries by the brackish lake edge
praying no gator would come up from the ghost-black depth
we used to hold hands in private
praying no daddy would catch a glimpse
we’d share a handle of whiskey down by the water
hiding from the headlights
now we either sputter or explode
and we both know
you’ll be back in a month
and I’ll let you wander in and haggle my price a little lower
we all get lost that way
see my soul ain’t exactly where I left it
but then neither are my keys

– Mela Blust

editors note: A lot paid for a little gain; but, keys are cheap as locksmiths. – mh clay