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.