Quench wet crackle of flip
flops on linoleum tiles,
strung like crooked teeth. Kissing
enamel whispering stories of
the late night grind.
A popsicle stick gifts splinters
like a supplicants prayers, lodged
long and deep; one for every
drop of cherry sweet that
passed my lips.
In the locker room, I watch
as water rivers from my face onto pebbled
floors, pinching fish belly
thighs, searching for diamonds
in the sand.
We fought on the day before he died.
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