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That Time We Thought We Wanted a Divorce

Jacqueline Lea

oak arms wave in the dark while

he hunches over on a damp

wooden bench. a crumpled

envelope slips to the ground

& the tie dangles limply

from around his stiff neck.

 

flashes of neon strike

over her, veiled by a

sweet chemical vapor.

her blueberry-spiced lips

hug the martini glass.

 

mud dries in the soles

of his loafers still sodden

from careless puddles

of tears run over.

 

a stranger’s palm

lingers over her

slick spine.

 

forgotten curfew

ticks over numerals.

 

night is over.

Fall, 2019 Issue