Thoughts on a Holiday
Holly Allen
We pile onto the creaking couch,
its skin splitting,
its legs moaning,
like young chicks in a feathered pile,
huddling for warmth against the
deep blue of the evening.
We’ve piled two thousand times before it seems,
it seems comfortable as old shoes,
it seems flat as an old sole.
Flashes of some Midwest-dream of a football game
no one’s watching,
watching the synthetic shine of
aluminum, plastic, and gold twine
snap in the yellowing of the light.
We pile into a single night,
elbows knocking,
desperate for breath,
it moves our fragile minds to
1983, 1992, and so on
for some nutmeg-melamine-dusty taste of
what-has-been
and so on,
and so on.
Holly Eva Allen is a writer currently living in California. She has a degree in linguistics and English from the University of California. Her work has been previously published in magazines and sites such as Levee Magazine, Blue Unicorn, and The Slanted House.
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