Beneath the August moon
the crickets churned
and flames danced on your face.*
We donned our heels to stamp them out.

Disguised in ordinary plaids
we added the remainders
and divided the unrequited lovers’
penchant for a taste of antimony.

Frolics were forgone. Deeds
were deemed superfluous. Renegade
and reggae headdresses patterned
after Antigone’s Neanderthal

ancestors flared and vanished
in the same thought. To fill
the void we invented ritual,
convention, and time-wasting devices.

* Borrowed from a 12th grade fiction submission

Categories: The Grind
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