Sandy Eubank Memorial Prize

Tim Harkins

 

Blue Skies

On the radio, Duane
still slides sunshine from the strings
of his guitar while Greg sings
blues skies. I sing it with him
and recall the lazy spring
afternoons, soft sun streaming
onto our tangled legs when
I knew love lasts forever.
For a moment I can still
believe it despite the dives
littered with broken bottles
of retaliating hearts.
Our choices obliterate
our innocent horizons.
The band still plays. I slowly
savor the summer’s last peach.

 

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