Cole Depuy
It is the ghost
I know
I can play so well.
I scan her
choker,
jade rings, yoga pants.
Her eyes hold me
as I search for an angle to despise.
In the parking lot,
she exits
stands on the curb.
“Are you going to be mad
at me if I don’t kiss you?” she says.
I laugh, “It’s cool,”
She flashes her high school
superlative – Best Smile –
turns, hair brushing tailbone
and disappears through glass.
On the passenger seat
I see her gloves.
Did she leave
them on purpose?
I wear them and touch my lips.
Marijuana and lavender
like radium.
I drive away glowing.
***
Cole Depuy’s poetry has appeared or is forthcoming in The Penn Review, Boston Accent, Heartwood, pacificREVIEW and elsewhere. He is a Ph.D. student at SUNY Binghamton’s Creative Writing Program and recipient of the Provost’s Doctoral Summer Fellowship.