By Emily G. Bjustrom
The air smells of popcorn and spilled beer
The concrete floor sticky
The air balmy and cool
Were we in love then?
There’s something dishonest in the way I’ve dressed myself
Flattened out my curls
Who was I pretending to be?
You look like yourself, eyes lighted
Exactly where you want to be.
Green collapsible seats, open like cheering mouths
Hopeful as their occupants,
Drunk and slurry behind, they jeer against us for the home team.
A summer ball game, a blue sky
joy palpable as water in the air
The bitter taste of a pregame beer lingers in the back of my throat.
Did you love me then?