mya and me,
we sold love cards
at the flea market,
hand drawn tennessee dawns
and a poem, hand lettered
under the fold, sacred
words everyone recognized,
five dollars with a pastel
envelope, her best grin.
guys who knew their wives
soft spots bought two or three,
the radio played all summer
/’love the one you’re with’/
as she drew mornings swiftly
through nights as wide as sin.
editors note:
Ahh! Sweet stretch; those nows on replay. Yes! (We welcome Blue to our crazy congress of Contributing Poets with this submission. See more of his madness on his new page – check it out.) – mh clay