Seafront Meridian

Hills constituted by white blood cells and Beachgrass

dunes whose shapes shaven by all-but-boardshorts boys

form ingenues. Their eyelids sheered of coconut.

Milk meat. The boys' shorts

were red. The boys' shorts read Billabong, Mountain-

side, Still Wind. Molly was there. Bare feet. Molly was moving.

Molly's molecules were there. Short toes.

Molly was moving tomorrow. Tomorrow Molly's molecules

would move. Easy not to believe. Not true until tomorrow.

What was true now was gulls opposite the passenger door

Molly threw QuarterPounder w/ Cheese bun to--at--to--at.

At two I'd drive her home over the dune. We wouldn't look back.

No pillars, but salt in the air we could taste around the windshield,

and hairless boys in red shorts, sandy shoes, who knew

she wasn't there.



The End

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