Blind Review Friday.
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This week's offering is from a Cleveland poetics blog regular.
The Summer Before College
In a colorless uniform I rode my bicycle
to the brand new Holiday Inn.
Solitary hours of changing sheets
and dusting faux surfaces,
of double-checking for a rogue hair
on the sink. I'd stare at a pair of hiking boots,
a men's magazine, a used condom
and imagine who had been there,
what they had been doing.
Silence weighed my body down
and magnified the loneliness,
so one August day I pushed the door shut,
turned on the television and sat on a bed
to watch Richard Nixon resign,
breaking the rules to witness
that singular shameful moment.
Days of laundry duty, the drone
of dryers, blinding white towels
folding when I closed my eyes at night.
The radio played the first time ever I saw your face
over and over and the music spun yearning
into my eighteen-year old heart.
That was when songs made decisions for me
and at 4:00 on that same day I said I quit.