On
a Walk to the Antabuse Clinic
I remember the day Ramona took me home,
she made Indian tacos, laughed
at my '71 Impala, jacket stuffed in the corner
of the rear window to stop the draft.
Dinner is like communion. She smiled
cool as Kim Deal, but I felt summer turn
gray, penance never hurt as much
as watching her blow me a kiss.
Trying not to stare too long at the sun,
I wrap my arms around myself and think
about the brick church where we made out
and made plans that didn't include the future;
the sky turns light blue, leaves
are still and green. I run down Franklin
grab at her reflection in the window.
Copyright © 2004 Alex Stolis