My shadow slips between the concrete cracks only noticed by the coon cats stalking the trash bins. Their dyspneic ribs pulling thin seams in the heat.
The weeds bow then burn into the asphalt, a scuff dulling to the parking lot striping. A loop of fallen barb wire hooks itself in the skin exposed by my sandals.
You are not where you said you would be— only the greasy imprint of your body, my body working still in the mark you left behind.
The imagery inspires multiple reads, the interpretations are different every time. The gritty concreteness makes me feel things that can’t be put into words. Ironic. I hope the speaker finds their friend—we are devoted to shadows, will we recognize the real thing after all this time?
Leave a Reply