Melancholy Hyperbole

Poetry about longing.

Getting Religion at A&W


A plastic cup hit the tile.
The ice clinked. Soda surged
like an outgoing tide.
 
“I’m sorry Mommy.”
 
I bent tired legs,
knees screeching as
I knelt on the sticky floor.
 
There were things down there
I didn’t want to see:
Dog hair, an old fruit loop.
A stinky kitchen rag swiped
through the spreading brown ocean of root beer.
 
And…
 
I was fourteen again.
A foamy mug sat between us, two straws.
My hands thick with salt and sweat
in spite of the ice rimmed glass.
 
The florescent light half flashed “A&W.”
Car horns honked,
screen doors slammed.
I heard none of it.
 
I rubbed my thighs, nervous, drying.
Praying you wouldn’t take my hand.
Praying that you would.
 
You held a crinkled fry
aloft between us.
It hung, suspended from your fingers.
I could see the sparkle in your eye,
and right then I died.
 
And I prayed God please,
Please.
 
 
Christine Nichols is a new poet from Stillwater, Ok. She has work pending or previously published in Red River Review, Vox Poetica, and Strong Verse.

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Categories: Poetry

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1 reply

  1. I love this bit of poetic time travel! Very evocative.

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