What could be more Yankee
than a hotel on the beach
in Kennebunkport, the Bush
compound just out of view?
You wore your red dress,
and clutched my arm in the photo
that would become our engagement
picture. I loved to examine
your back, freckle by freckle.
We walked on goose rocks; it's true,
my ex rode with us, and we survived.
Enclosed, find my bias: the Green
Heron Inn on the briny marsh,
a garden, a stone bench. We walked
across a drawbridge, we walked
to a salty bar. The moon was
a nipple over the ocean, an oyster.
I refused to kowtow. I breathed
in your ear. "Flash & yearn"
I wrote in their book. Now,
they're back in Maine and we
are none the wiser.
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