Blind Review Friday.
The author shall remain anonymous (unless they chose to divulge themselves in the comments.)
Those commenting are also welcome to remain anonymous if they wish.
Incendiary comments will be removed.
If you would like your piece thrown to the wolves send it to firstname.lastname@example.org with "Workshop the hell out of this poem" as the subject line.
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.