Elizabeth Sterr
Romulus
This is supposed
to be beautiful.
The
train sounding
in the distance,
the lights that glide
down my ceiling
from cars passing
our window.
I imagine
a bicycle
alone
at the crest
of an expansive bridge.
You Don't Say
I saw the man-
the one who gave
us a ride to the party where we
dressed like snowmen
wearing suits and ties.
He laughed
a kind of silent dog laugh.
I heard everything
but his laugh.
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