the girl at the bus stop
I barely saw, like water colors
the girl in the face
of the automobile, the peripheral
firefly, the wax candy melting
the girl in the shop window
at Hooters, setting up tables in
what looks like my girlfriend’s
dad’s sweater. the snoconistas
who work until November
dipping their nails in the syrup
and hanging them out of the truck
like rare flavors. the girl
with the tatted arm sleeves
squirting her dogs with water
on the stoop of the mini-golf course
Peter Pan in those tight shorts
looming over everything
the girl who knows her birds
whose mouth is like a bird’s
having evolved on an island
for something so specific
the heron’s shallow stabbing
instrument. the pelican’s scoop
tasting of salt. the girl
at the office, who simply has
to stand in front of something
to make it better

The window’s tint
the blue, how blue
is the grass