In a series of collisions
her cousin, his daughter, by marriage
arrives in Lake Forest wearing
the same shirt as the groom
in this aren’t we humble moment
squinting in the water’s glare
someone brings chickens, of course
beer and music everyone likes
Gerbers in pots, she is here
dances almost every song
keeps near the air pockets
the clover and wild violets
rend and drill her in the end
head bent by the loss
here on the eve
of all new beginnings
I’m I supposed to be in love with Nick’s girlfriend. Because I think I am.
Yes. This. Near the air pockets.
The confession in this is direct, as well as implied.
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