http://wso.williams.edu/~pham/babble/

6

poem of the week
- the theme of this POTW site -

Untitled

Sal left 
(a) note 
on my door this morning, asked if anyone 
wrote any more.  Sometimes she gets 
nostalgic and 
rifles 
through 
old 
cardboard boxes in grandfather's attic.  As if you can 
be nostalgic 
over what you 
never lived 
through.  She says that they lived life.  I asked her 
what the fuck were we 
doing, sometimes I get mad like when she talks like that our lives suck.  

She said that people cared 
(enough) to take half an hour 
to do what we do in 20 seconds.  She said that 

they thought about shit or something like that I don't know what she said any more.  

She just turn around and she just stand there and she just there nice body black hair tight tight black leggings showing off her ass but she doesn't care and black neoprene top with a zipper just down to there and I thought that I just wanted her so bad like just fuck but I just stared.  

Holding letter in her hand
she just held it
(then) re-folded it, put in pocket, and I asked, Sal, can I see the letter, and she said Germ, let's just go

just go.