Grass Stains

Steph Kranes

The parking lot

through a rectangular window, downward

he winks unforgettably

and touches my face with soft fingertips.

in the morning chill,

I remember how it felt to sense him asking.

“Come outside

and run on my fields…

I’ll tie your shoes and won’t let you fall”

but each bell curve

makes my heart quake

with needless frustration

The upset

Of being strung on an anonymous wheel

crowds my space—

like worthless precedents

      and hungry stomachs.