i park my marrow in the garage


meet me at my friend’s bar 

the perky gray bubble reads

sure, but what if people see?

i wonder, but he sends the laugh emoji. 

no, dummy, that’s what it’s called


i park my marrow in the garage, 

it's tender, unlocked and vulnerable 

on the corner near spence cafe,

i shove a quarter in the slot 

as you wait at the outdoor table

with two tequila shots & two beers ready.


my smile is a lime rind but here’s the salt—

when you hold my hand, the september air 

is electric. i forget that i am a secret 

until your old schoolmate spots us &

your fingers uncoil from mine,

i flush stop-sign red, the guilt constricts

my throat. i push the fried pickles away

unable to eat the forbidden fruit.

i know i should go no further

but you hold out a blunt

wanna go out by the car and smoke?


all i can do is nod and follow you 

behind the cajun red equinox 

hidden in the overgrown bushes  

you snake your hand behind my neck

to slide in for a clandestine kiss.


A.K. Shakour has a bachelor's degree from The University of British Columbia in English literature, with a minor in creative writing. She has work published in Room Magazine, yolk literary, and others. She has one dog and a plethora of potted plants that desperately need to be watered.