First
Streetlights abuzz with moths and June-bugs.
Your father stroking his Charvel superstrat,
Ashing smokes in the garage. Barefeet.
Garlic dip for breadsticks. Fanta and pop-punk.
Rogue bearings in my skateboard, veering
Like a lazy-eye: your following laughter
With shadows crescendoing to the park
And ditching all for hands and warm lips
And gasping in dark thickets of your hair
And singing cicadas and crickets above
Heady moonlit lapping of the stream.
Strange, catching our breaths, the stars
Between trees never second guessed
What it meant for us, separately, to walk home.
© Casey Morris
Casey Morris‘ writing has appeared in Decadent Serpent and Atropos Poetry Magazine and is forthcoming in Sky Island Journal, Ginosko, SOUL Forte, the Friends Journal, and The Bluebird Word. He lives with his wife and son in Oxfordshire, United Kingdom.
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