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July 27, 2014 | by  | in Features |
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Last lolly in the $2 mix

You bought a $2 mix
from the corner dairy.
On my lunch break we sat
on the crumbling dirt steps
out back, under the prickly afternoon sun.
You handed me a fruit rascal
and told me your morning.
I wanted to pick one myself but
you kept the bag ziplocked in your lap,
handing me milk bottles
one at a time, smiling,
an artificial blue stain on
your gums.

I bit hard through the Jaffa shell,
sugar granules cracked on my teeth,
I admired how nicely packaged you were,
sharp black, a crisp blue tee shirt;
it clashed with the green snifters
cupped in your palm
and my green apron.

We sucked sherbet fizzies
and crunched chocolate buttons,
pooling into messy kisses
over my tongue.
Your arm around my waist, too tight,
like plastic frills on boiled candy.
Snowflake dust collected
in the folds of plastic
we scraped the last of it
out of the bag,
I let the end drabs dissolve over my lips,
form a candied shell
against yours.

You took a final kiss,
sucked it
from my sticky lips
with your tough straps of liquorice,
and left me to work,
an ulcer throbbing
in the fold of my tongue.

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