IN THE HEYDAYS OF HIS EYES
(taut jeans dancing)

An Anthology of Poetry about Being Young and Growing Up
 
 
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I LIE ON THE COLD TRAMPOLINE

Melissa Waller

I lie on the cold trampoline. I watch the stars wink silently. I shiver. You stood me up again. I know where you are. You're at that party, Snorting some coke or smoking some pot-- One of those parties you begged me to attend, Where you could be found On a ripped couch, it's contents falling out, With others, all with bloodshot eyes. It didn't take long to fall for you, But it sure as hell took a long time to get over you. The whoosing sound of car ties. Headlights briefly illuminate the snow. The car pulls in to my driveway. You get out. You stand looking at me, gripping The trampoline's metal frame. The stale stench of alcohol and smoke Clings to your mouth and body. "Look, I'm sorry," you say. "I'm only a little late." I sit up and look at the eyes That ask for my forgiveness once again. "You're a little too late." I jump to the ground and quietly head for the house. You don't try to follow me.

 
 
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