we laid on our stomachs
to peer underneath the rink.
there was a legend a man lived there
with a tree bark face & a rabid dog.
a wooden jungle of boards & bombs.
what are you doing friday night?
the disco ball that came like
a second sun. a new god.
here the light is faeried
& fickle. beams across your teeth.
i loved all girls on roller blades.
their knees like ripe peaches.
my face, a bowl of soup.
summer had enough hair for all of us.
willow tree with the missing arm.
the squirrels with their girlfriends
in the oak trees. i sat on a swing
away from the thrum of the rink.
swayed back & forth & pretended
i was a cherry. the pit in me
rolled back & forth. ponytail-lifed girls.
the smell of cucumber melon.
i waited for the park to empty.
baseball field lights casting
long & wandering shadows.
the rink went dark. a husk of spiral.
around & around. i always felt like
a solar system inside there.
i went alone to peer beneath
in the july dark. for a moment
i thought i saw a pair of eyes.
the man or else maybe just
a lost glance? a pilfered stare
i wished to cast at all the girls.
their beautiful nights wrapped up
& carried away in ribbons & syrup.
the night bugs laughed. the man
beneath the rink laughed &
i took my shadow with me
to begin the walk home across
the street lamp lit town.


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