all summer girls are sad
stretched out on pleather couches
under the slicked-back fronds of rotting
palms, skin puckered in the salt-breeze
while tan lines thicken around the bands
of bathing suits & flip flops.
all my summer girls are sad,
witch bitch communist dumpster sluts
sitting poolside drinking white claws
from the punctures left by their acrylics,
seagulls picking at the rainbow sludge
of the google Pride bus floating belly-up—
these are the ends of times but at least they’re paid for.
all my girls still live in summer
too hot to be believable, they speak
& their words sharpen steak knives
cut a hole in the fabric of time.
I’d roll through but that was in another country
& besides, the wench is dead.
Amelia Furlong is a new poet whose poems have appeared or are forthcoming in Ropes 2020 and Strukturriss. She recently graduated from the MA in Writing at the National University of Ireland, Galway.
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