We'll Get Ours.

We revere as golden chalice
one stretch of city street,
to be named sacred in our naivety.

Newly transplanted
we rifle through these boys
one by one
decked in their uniforms as we see them
day in and nights end,
their tennis shoes pounding the pavement of
our new home
in a queue from the foot of my bed,
through our bedrooms and back into
the streets we share.
We learn our place
through their places,
see ourselves through their nomad eyes,
each one be one.
Want one.
Have one.

Each one a sordid tempting trial,
one more,
misty morning arrives and brings the daily tranquil hush
when we all lay asleep,
hopefully not alone,
remaking ourselves to fight one more day,
remarking on our will,
we want ours.
We'll have ours.


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~PhoenixRising said...

Damn it Miranda, you're rockin. I'd totally fall in love with you if you weren't like the most awesome person. :)

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Sam said...

Oh fuck do I miss you. Reading these brings it home more than anything else recently - except maybe last night when some guy yelled at me and I wanted you there to kick his ass.

Hopefully tonight will be slow enough for me to take a lunch break and actually call you...
And I'm pulling strings to get time off to come visit you and spend that $400 of ours...

I love you.

Thaozee said...

I've just been catching up on all your posts that I've missed. I've concluded that we would have been good friends at high school. Sneaking cigarettes behind the school and singing Dean Martin's "That's Amore" while running down the aisles for no fucken reason at all.

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