Hard Won

Fog’s up
Off the creek again.
Can smell
A hint of
The fall to come.
Page blares
From an open window
And rolls back
To that time
On the hilltop.
Before we knew better.

It has all the
Faded grays
Of two dozen years
Gone.
But there are moments
Still,
Jaw clenches
In the retelling.

10 or 12 —
Passing a bottle,
All wild in the night.
And the cops showed up,
Filled pockets
With contraband,
And it was,
Probably,
Just in time.

The only boy
Ever to raise a hand —
Ironic, the approval,
And no wonder
These lessons were
So hard won.

He stopped the car.
On the dark
Middle of nowhere
Road,
11:30 p.m.

And we slipped away
From those
Hard hands,
Looking for something
To break the night.
Zeppelin fading
With his taillights.

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About Emily

I may or may not have: A. Dirt B. Ink C. Paint D. Wool under my fingernails.

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