put a white cotton kerchief over it
held it in place with a blue rubber band
little stars swirling in their hands
and she liked the way his face lit up
in the pulsing light
Jazz horns drifting off her parents' porch
lingering in the languid August night
A&W on their breath
deep laughter dying quickly into crickets,
those mournful horns
She thinks, I will continue this
my porch, my lawn, my parents
him and his
and our children will catch fireflies
they will be summer dreamers
and in this way we will live forever
She pretends he is not stealing glimpses down her shirt
wonders why there's neither indignation nor desire
she is twenty-two, but she'll pretend
the fireflies are brighter that way
and the horns
the horns are not mournful at all
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