The bar is so low the boys can’t limbo underneath it
so they keep us in limbo instead.
Patron saints of the bare minimum
lowering the bar into the fresh Earth like a coffin
but they’d rather keep us in limbo instead.
They text back within a two-hour window and we swoon,
twirl our hair as they lower the bar into the fresh Earth like a coffin.
Tell our friends it might be something worth exploring.
They text back within a two-hour window and we swoon,
the shirtless mirror selfies sent to every girl on their Snapchat lists become thoughtful.
We tell our friends it might be something worth exploring,
momentarily forget the bar is so low it runs parallel to sewer lines in cold climates
because the shirtless mirror selfies sent to every girl on their Snapchat lists are thoughtful.
And wow, they’re looking up addresses in advance so they’re not late to meet us,
making us momentarily forget the bar is so low it runs parallel to sewer lines in cold climates.
We’re fanning our faces with our hands when they ask follow up questions during conversations
and wow, they’re looking up addresses in advance so they’re not late to meet us,
patron saints of the bare minimum.
We’re fanning our faces with our hands when they ask follow up questions during conversations.
The bar is so low the girls trip over it, call ourselves clumsy.
Cassie Lewis is a poet and work in progress based in Adelaide, South Australia. She has a BA in English from the University of Adelaide and feels most at home in a concert audience or by the sea. Her work has been previously published in Germ Magazine and Not Very Quiet Journal.
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