by R.J. Zeman
Clouds
There was a young couple
I knew:
a tall, skinny boy
and a short, pretty girl.
There were about
twenty one.
He was going
to join the Army.
After a few months,
the girl
got pregnant.
They disappeared
for awhile.
I saw them again
last night;
they were pushing
a stroller
into a restaurant.
They both looked
exhausted.
I waved at them,
nodded,
and sipped my water.
They nodded back.
Clouds gathered
on the horizon;
a storm was coming.
I leaned back
and cracked
my neck.
Tiny Cars
Lost dreams
of you
dance through
my skull
as the moon
hangs over
the suburbs.
I know you’re
out there
in your make-up
and your
tiny car.
I can almost
feel my
palm
resting on your
soft,
pale skin.
Think of me
sometime
in the night,
in the wee hours,
past 4 a.m.,
in the
secret compartment
in the back
of your mind.
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