The Heat, The Windscreen

Another summer day
Waiting in the car.
He’s taking his time up there,
With the cheap score.
And then they
Come out.

Flannel shirt.
Stained pink blouse.
Dirty jeans
Jeans dirtied.

She screams,
With slight nerves.
He uses an open palm.

Kneels down,
Twists straw follicles between
Black inked knuckles

Don’t fuck with me,
I love you.

She sucks back
Red spit off the tongue
You ruined my life,
I need you.

You better
Get up.

Lock the door,
Look away.
Down at the shiny keys.
In the ignition.

She screams.

Look up.

They walk off,
Holding hands.


Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s