hunkered down on the bottom step of my back patio
with your painty pants rolled up
and your bare feet dipped in the unkept grass
as if grown there
I stepped out onto the slate in work socks
and washed myself in the evening air of July
and pulled my shoulders back into position
and watched you corkscrew that $6 wine bottle into the dirt
"to keep it chilled"
the way Dave taught you
The divorced girls next door had a fire going
and every few seconds it peaked over the fence at us
and cut the stillness between us with arhythmic popping
but there still wasn't enough space so
I waded along the limits of the backyard, admiring yesterday's clipping
and when I looked back you were gone
and I was holding your $6 wine bottle in one hand
and grabbing at sparks with the other
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