It happens to me every year on Wednesday
Cashier named Autumn rings up watermelon,
Like head of the August was sentenced to death.
She tells me that she is from Avon, Ohio,
Her grandfather smoked and now has cancer,
They took off his tongue in the battle for life.
She misses him badly along with Ohio,
Her highschool's a redbrick glorified prison
About 10 miles, ma'am, down the street.
And she is a junior and feels incomplete.
She tells me her stories and swipes
like a princess her natural colored salon-styled hair
The color of sunsets and thinned out blood
With royal forgotten and careless gesture
She puts watermelon in crowded cart.
And suddenly I realize that September will happen next week.
***
© Copyright: Оля Слепченко, 2019
Свидетельство о публикации №119082900318
Свидетельство о публикации №119082900318
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