Untitled Prose Poem (#1)

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by Justin Lacour

issue 71

Not much in the way of ambiance. We saw a movie and then sat by the canal, smoking, till it was time to bring her back to her parents. This was the girl with dog bites all down her legs, who avoided skirts and shorts, though the heat was brutal, even at night. “It’s not like they say,” she said casually. “Ulysses’s men stayed pigs, but it’s like it gave them a new sense of purpose. They became better sailors. They stole the ship till Ulysses was a dark speck in the horizon.” I didn’t know how was I supposed to take this. There was the smell of meat grilling in a backyard, the sound of cars on the highway. But there’s a story of us somewhere in this, we were quiet, we were always hungry and we grew long and thin in the night of the story till our arms could reach up to the trees, groping for food.