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by Becca Yenser

I saw Dan again. He looked alright.
He still wore a padlock and chain
Around his neck. Not a hint
Of irony; vaguely flirting with
The waitress.

I wanted to take him in
My arms, wash his
Clothes. Give him a hot towel
For his face. Give him love
In the early, early dawn.

I loved him. Kind of. At
Least loved the idea:
My lips pressed to his,
Our addictions suddenly
Cured. Nothin' but
Blue skies, baby. A chapel
And a bell.

He left without a word.
So I nursed my beer.
The birds on the tables
Dancing in their glaze,
The jukebox never missing
A song.


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