And her thickly-painted-blue eyelids flicker as she laughs.
An overcast day on the Cuyahoga riverfront
Just toxic water, rundown concrete, and my best friend.
Her hair is wild and burnt red, like 1970s shag carpet
My hot pink bangs expose my too-cool-for-school attitude
And my corny club t-shirt betrays that too cool, I'm not.
Leaning back on her forearms, she balls a veggie burger wrapper with one hand.
Absentmindedly, I encase the zit on my chin with the lid of my 32-ounce Coke.
She's blowing white air out her pursed lips.
I'm pulverizing ice cubes between my molars.
"This will be a poem when we're thirty," I say.
"Doing everything unhealthy, just to know that we have.
These are The Good Old Days."
She agrees, though she doesn't need to
Because anything I feel, she feels, rest assured.
Someday we'll be thirty and nostalgic
But somehow even now, every second of hanging out is poetry to us.
Chipotle burritos this year: 19
Bye, guys! Hopefully I'll see you tomorrow. <3