When Her Boyfriend Leaves
the dense wooden door slams shut with only a few
centimeters of clearance from the cold tile floor,
forcing a gust of frigid air into the dimly lit residence
the moonlight creeps in;
painting blueish outlines, creating audaciously
amoebic shapes, encouraging our flippant behaviors
next to a deeply sunken window,
her spider-like fingers scan through the
stack of films for the one I let her borrow
a mechanical tray presents itself
and the disc disappears
the DVD player skips and my stupid heart follows,
suit, my suit is off in minutes;
have to undress for the part
the movie plays,
our play unfolds,
we interact so smoothly
we ignore the truth,
the truth be told,
we never watch the movie
hours later and daylight peaks
into an abode with much reverence
for a lover that isn’t me
lush bohemian curtains twist sunbeams
into an opaline kaleidoscope that
paints her gentle fingers with a shimmering hue
through its subtle doorsill spacing, the mahogany
threshold funnels a crisp spring breeze
into the iridescent glow of the bungalow
Sweet Home Alabama sits in the ejected disc tray,
waiting to go back home
the DVD logo searches for the corners of the screen
and while I lay awake and root for it to find it’s space
my mind searches for ways that we can possibly fit together
Steven Sandage is a poet based in Visalia, California. He began writing poetry in his early teens. Poetry allowed him the freedom to express himself without limits. He is majoring in Creative Writing at Fresno State University. His projected graduation year is 2024.
Image: User:Wanted, User:Ochro, CC BY-SA 2.5 https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/2.5, via Wikimedia Commons
