A Prose Poem by Anon ymous
It was the softest part of summer; a day to sandlot away; a day to fly. I knew the names of all the states in alphabetical order [capitals too]. She had a pale complexion; homemade dress; a spot of freckles on her left shoulder blade; and those eyes, those eyes. I liberated some long necks; took her to the tracks; we kicked off our shoes, put our ears to the rail; felt a rumble as our fingers touched. I know you by heart is what she said.