tribe, she said, and walked away, her motorcycle boots were great...

in the brilliant day where she always lived her wellspent youth
she’d say oh, come on, how about “I came back home!” from that
handsome keyboard player whose jazz went somewhere we all did? wasn’t it really something to see in those days: all that magic just pouring off of me? and I’d put it to you like this:

i’d say how he made the keys trill…in spanish class? naw! like the devil dancing on that giant xylophone he wired up with a pick-up from hell

“I just put a little bit of that other song in…” he said and she typed like she, too, danced, her boots geared up and skirts flouncing in the fall of our last prom

oh, honey

tribe, she said, and walked away, her motorcycle boots were great...

Marie Monroe

Louisville, United States

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