Coach M was intense. The football guys loved him.
“Do you believe in Jesus Christ, our Lord and Savior?” His fist pounded on the passenger window like a hammer pounding nails.
My hands tightened on the wheel. “Sure,” I said, praying I’d make it out of the car.
[Yeah, so I forgot to add this to the microprose grid. But I wrote it for that, so I’m leaving the badge!]
They keep coming: small men with their small desires. They hunger for my gold; they scrabble through my table leavings. They foul the air with their scent.
Here comes another, hand over hand to steal my solitude. Let me ready my plate.
Nights like this, I sleep naked, seeking relief in the coolness of empty sheets. I wake to the droning of cicadas, the yearning for rain, the ache of desire and the taste of your name in my mouth.
Seven hours ago I walked with you in the moonlight. We dallied until only a handful of stars were left: the last vestiges of night. Now the sky is pink and waiting; morning holds its breath.
Seven hours is not enough to make up for all the lost years.
My mother doesn’t believe me. How I see you at night in that instant before my eyes adjust to the dark. I didn’t open the window. I didn’t move that chair.
“Don’t leave me,” I had begged, graveside. It is just like you, you bastard, to listen this time.