By Kyle Garneau
The country’s still air on route 172
is in an argument with my radio
the brief intermissions between songs
brings the outside inside my car
before my radio wrestles back control.
The solemn tree stands alone
on Raspberry island as I visit across the way
I have no access to a boat
and it is too far to swim
so I enjoy it from across the shattered blue highway.
I can’t see my baby tonight
we’ve got Thanksgiving plate agendas
the flowers from our last date are wilted
as our red yearning turns into a mushy remembrance
as we both turn to dreams above our flesh
About the author:
Kyle Garneau (he/him) is currently a student studying political science and business administration at Eastern Connecticut State University. He was an editor and contributor for his high school's literary magazine, Mind's Eye. He is currently in the Axis edition of Abridged magazine. He will be in the July Edition of Filter Coffee Zine. He has also submitted to the Connecticut Student Writers magazine, where he was an honorable mention. He is currently submitting his work to various magazines as he compiles poems for his first book of poetry, Blue Domes.