I was sure I'd find you at the grocery store behind where you work but it's not like I was looking. I have a job too, you know. Still I was shopping for the apples under your eyes which I knew would glisten like aisles of clear crushed plastic. Nobody looks perfect in this lighting. But there you would be. I knew. Your hair a Galway of explanations and product. An embarrassment who could pronounce the names of yeast cultures pivoting awkwardly behind you, pulling the cart like a ouija board he didn't really believe in. It was crowded. Full of Netflix and disaster. We waited for each other to eat better this year.
But I've been wrong before.
S. Preston Duncan is a caregiver, BBQist, and End of Life Doula in Richmond, Virginia. Recent aspirations include becoming the Jason Isbell of literature, stealing Death’s laughter, and transcendental pimento cheese. He is the former Senior Editor of local arts and culture publication, RVA Magazine. His poetry has appeared or been selected to appear in Tulane Review, Circle Show, Levee Magazine, Unstamatic, Coffin Bell Journal, and the Yardstick Books "Water” anthology.
See more of his work in 7.3 and here