Lynne

Lynne

After school we’d lie on the floor
holding hands, dazed
from dancing ourselves dizzy,
45 spinning on your stereo.

Who knew what laid ahead
was empties tumbling 
from your locker, 
your glazed eyes.

Now, I remember 
your flinch when your father 
came home, face red, 
clinking a brown bag.

You fell into drink like a whirlpool,
got sucked under, 
now you’re dead 
thirty years, but I can’t forget

that record we danced to, 
it hit gold, Dizzy, 1969 
by Tommy Roe. I know 
the lyrics. And I can’t forget

how I shunned you in town
those times you waved, 
with a hand that shook,
shy eyed half-smile, 

how I pushed my cart
at the market, glided by,
as you sliced deli meats 
to the tracks of muzak.

What are you looking for?