Ninety Degrees at Eight PM in the Middle of Nowhere

I gather, from the magazine she reads, that she has grander
Goals than screwing in my room with me. She'd like to be a
Famous person, one, who, as she does, would spend the
Waning hours of an evening laying by a swimming pool
In tiny suit and massive shades, arising every now and then
To step into the shallow end and squat to blunt the heat.
But she would rather not be here in Goodland, next to
Highway 24. She dreams of Hollywood, and she has no
Intention of engaging with someone, like me, who
Leers from toward the deeper end, his hairy belly
Facing her, in part because, by standing so, my beer
Remains in reach. I turn to scan the yellow sky, the
Highway dense with passing trucks. The emptiness
Of western Kansas soothes my mind. The beer is
Fine. My lust is like it, blandly pleasant. She can
Ache for what she hasn't. Sometimes, such as now,
I'm satisfied with what I have.



Poetry by Lawrence Beck The PoetBay support member heart!
Read 17 times
Written on 2013-07-06 at 14:10

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