Wednesday was Thursday was Friday
But as it began it was barely Thursday so it couldn't have been
Friday and I could still taste
The drive to Connecticut, salty, the concert, sweet, the ride
Back to Westchester, bitter, the night at the stranger's house
The morning after took us over the Palisade's bridge,
Window down the whole way, whipping my hair
Into my neck and half my chest as my dress began outrageously early
And ended not much later.
It was covered in flowers.
I remember.
It was still barely Thursday but a little more Thursday than before
With Wednesday now a memory as I painted someone else onto my face
And got into Wednesday's car
That drove us to Thursday's story. I think
The baseball field was called a diamond, but I wouldn't really know
Because for the whole game I only looked into circles
Big porous circles of green and gold and you and
Down my bare back.

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