By Alexis Orgera

I fell in love one stormy summer
with a girl whose name
I don't remember. We rode bikes
in zig-zags as she sang
            jeepers creepers where'd you get those weepers…
I thought I would die.

In a lightning storm copperheads bushel
under our porch. We listen
with the ears of deranged bats
                        for the static before the crash.
We listen all the time
for invisibles, an owl swooping,
demons coiled in the bedsprings.

In a lightning storm we rode,
stopping only to listen
for the electric pulse
that made the wet tar kneel.


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So to Speak
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