Sun patinas snow mounds,
causes boy’s dirt bike
to slither         to skitter         no helmet.
Salt-trucked boots       clack pavement
to car,
looking for blankets or bandages,
but it’s just my ex’s    cigarette whispers
and shrimp dumplings            half-bagged,
frostish                        unfeeling,
taste of
whine
on my lips.

– Rebecca Ferlotti

Note: This piece was originally published by The Carroll Review in 2015.