by Ed Markowski
On the moonlit edge of a New York Minute.
We met in line at the express checkout.
Her soft lady fingers were wrapped around a jar of Nescafe Instant.
My calloused pocket aces juggled two decks of Flash Cash lottery tickets.
She scanned me I scanned her.
She said Let’s go I said Let’s go.
Five seconds later we’re flying down Owens Road in her Mercury Comet.
Ten seconds post Comet we stood on her front porch.
Fifteen seconds past her porch we were panting on her bedroom floor.
Twenty seconds above her bedroom floor we were two stars rising and falling in a ceiling mirror.
Ten seconds after the flood two sparks begat a wildfire.
At three – thirty on that fifth day of May we saw each other for the last time.
Five years later to the day today I received an eleven word note from Missoula Montana.
There’s a boy named Jake here crying to meet his daddy
On rainy days like today I think about them from daylight to dark.
And every day I hate myself at the dawn of my death.