Saturday, February 13, 2010

King is not a Martian, and I am not a Man.

King, teeth shining, props black-slippered feet up
The table bows as Evan leans back.
I listen to them talk,
Head in arms.
It's four a.m., and Evan's chin is pointed upwards,
He looks at me expectantly.
I grin against the blurriness of the darkness and the sand in my eyes.
It's four a.m. in the pool room.
We envelope the table with feet, back, and arms.
The radiator hums.

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