Construction Literary Magazine

Fall 2019

Always Crashing the Same Car; How We Differ

Always Crashing the Same Car; How We Differ
Photograph via Flickr Felipe Skroski
Always Crashing the Same Car

You spray your familiar tag, each frame of
the day urgent. Broadcast thought bubbles in
broad capitals: & this! & this! unable to bear
the night sweeping you away, the sand
erasing your footprints. Later someone will
pour over your scrawl, invest hours to
determine if the word was shame or share.
You feel tenderness towards this one.
Wanting to help, you whisper, I meant both.

How We Differ

A single wing flaps at the waterline as if the
beach itself struggled airborne. Up close, I
see its anchor, the shoulder torn to ribs. All
around, waves froth crabs, the dead a scurf,
those still living frantic to disappear.
Merciless, I lift them, writhing, in cupped
palms. Over and over, they seek erasure. Not
me. Daily, dogged, I chase the thrown stick
and paddle back, half-drowned, nose barely
cresting. I vomit salt and beg for more.