SNAPSHOT

by Kari Rudd

 

Long before we ever 

discussed the art of 

fitting books on tabletops,


Before we assembled 

custom hangar boxes and

developed a discerning 

eye for pallets,


You were a little dinosaur.


It would be many years until 

you tried to abandon this country,

then returned

to make the Twin Cities dance


And to screw together 

a cheap coffee table

with me.


All tail, 

sulking at Grandma’s. 

Did nobody tell you to take off your shoes?


An impossibly young,

exasperated,

vampire was

crouched at your side.


Soon after,

she probably left

to have a good time.


I bet you ate candy 

and learned 

how to beat me at cards.

 

©2020 by Kari Rudd

 
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©2020 by Roulette: A Queer Lit Mag.