Cape Codder
Katy Whittingham

Bad boyfriends never make an early supper,
and disappointments mount up like sand dunes.
Her tragedy decided to evolve quickly,
the way red tends to take over.
My foggy mind says, sister;
losing is sinking
my teeth into this Styrofoam cup
in a waiting room,
where there is no waiting,
for she is pulled again;
the morning undertow is unforgiving,
yet random in choosing
what it leaves behind.
Until then,
she says,
and by a different ocean.

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