Constitutional
by Erin Jones Bennett
He follows her like dust
behind a pickup. Her skirt clutched
in his left hand and a bottle
in his right. And every night they sit
by the fuzz covered pond--
the only murmur
of color on a flesh-painted farm.
And sometimes they sit there all night
until her skirt is limp
as an over-sunned azalea.
I can’t help but want to pluck her
from that grass.
behind a pickup. Her skirt clutched
in his left hand and a bottle
in his right. And every night they sit
by the fuzz covered pond--
the only murmur
of color on a flesh-painted farm.
And sometimes they sit there all night
until her skirt is limp
as an over-sunned azalea.
I can’t help but want to pluck her
from that grass.
Erin Jones Bennett holds an MFA in poetry from the University of Florida. She currently resides in San Antonio, TX and works in Student Accessibility Services at Trinity University. Her poems have appeared in Pleiades, Fourteen Hills, Passages North, RHINO and elsewhere.