Those Days

By Nikki Hardin

July 15, 2019

Those Days

In 1976, when you were still alive,
I wrecked my car on 14th Street
in D.C. on our first date.
ME: A single mother and student in your “Death and Dying” course.
Teacher’s pet, sending you looks
from behind my long dark hippie hair,
over the frames of my big glasses.
YOU: A shambolic professor and married man,
big and barrel-chested, pretending
you didn’t notice me while you smoked
your skinny brown cigarettes at the lectern.
You could do that in those days.
You could smoke in class.
You could date your students.
You could fall in love with your professor.
You could rear-end someone’s car
in a seedy neighborhood late at night
and crowd together in a corner phone booth
to call a tow truck and laugh about disaster
despite having no collision insurance
and kiss and kiss and kiss
like there would be no tomorrow,
no liability or collateral damage
and you would live forever.

comments powered by Disqus « Back to Beautiful-Things

Newsletter Sign Up

shadow shadow