I study the photograph
of the two of us
in the parking lot
where you used to pick me up
behind my mother’s building.
Your eyes are not smiling.
My eyes are closed.
One of your boots is raised
in suggestion of walking away.
The soles of my shoes are flat
against the concrete.
I used to dig in with my toes
for all the good it did me.
© May 20, 2012 Barbara Moore
Fearless Magazine
Fearless Magazine