Roof Access

Remember the day we spent with the ravers?
They led us, single file, under timers, over lasers

to the roof– the naughtiest thing you and I had ever done.
We waited for alarms that would never come.

They pulled a bong from a backpack.
We declined and watched their flame sail and slack

in the wind. I calculated the cost of this caper:
A fine? A permanent mark on my paper.

You wouldn’t look at me, why?
Your eyes skipped the river to the city, adulthood, the sky

as the call of a coxswain floated up to us.
We did not have the vocabulary to discuss

the ways we were choosing to cross that river:
team rower, solo sailor, tourist cruiser.

 


 

Word Prompt: caper

Eat It

I envy the girls at Panera

in their school uniforms.

They order with the conviction

of saints venerated at their school.

“I’ll have that and that, but not that,” proclaims one.

Never that,” says another.

Their world is divided into subjects

they can choose not to take.

 

I stir cream and sugar

into the blackness of my cup.

I know that life is indivisible

and I must eat it all.

 


 

Word Prompt: uniform