by Keenan Schott

As I sauntered through the field
She walked a few steps ahead
Knowing exactly where to go
Even though we weren't going anywhere in particular.

When we arrived at the woods

She found a clearing
With a henge of logs for us to sit on.

I took a slug from my pint of cheap whiskey

And offered it to her, but she refused.
She dipped her one-hitter into her partially-full grinder
And smoked it down in three hits.

“It's gorgeous out today,”

I lied, my ass a swamp of sweat.
She didn't say anything,
Just smiled and lit a menthol cigarette.
I puffed away at my e-cig
And watched the trees' shadows
Flicker like a Brakhage film.

Back in the field

We flumped into the grass.
I asked her to hold my hand.
She said 'no'.
I drank the rest of my whiskey.

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