Reid@YWP

It wasn't hot for once. Ohio remains hot every summer but the night seems to be like cold water poured over a fire pit:

the heat lightens up but the smoke of it hangs in the air, the remnants of what it was before.

I'm sorry 

I'm sorry for what 

My country is doing 

For what we seem to think 

Is OK   

I'm sorry for how 

My president is acting 

I remember taking Polaroids with you

In the driveway of the house you’ve now sold

On a grey afternoon that looked like night

In the photos. We’d wait impatiently

Dear Canada, 

You do not belong to us. 

You never have. 

And I really, really hope you never will. 

You are your own country, but I know I don’t have to tell you that. 

I catch a glimpse. 

from afar, 

the shine of his silky hair in the golden sunlight

his expression unreadable, 

as if he's pondering something he'd never tell a soul. 

Kathy watched out her window as Samuel left his apartment, 

spit his gum on the ground

and lit his cigarette. 

the same as yesterday. 

the same as every day.