Where the boys still ride in the beds of pickup trucks
The wind is always warm here
Where the boys still ride in the beds of pickup trucks
Breezes snap through t-shirts
Hot metal and sun reddens arms
burns bare necks
It’s on these backroads we learn to kneel
by rattling tailgates and midnight headlights
We curl
hands around wheat, wheat around teeth
We vulgar our tongues
The body turns hollow
You hear the wind whistling through collar bones
We want to grow wings
but know we can never fly
only learn how to find balance
Dabbing the corner of blazing tawny eyes
A boy looks over his shoulder into the past
Asks me if I want to stay
When I say no, I feel guilty
The smile on his face as I leave is the same as when I came
