Strawberries
Poetry by Gabrielle BatesA car’s tires thu-thunk
over the rubbery black trip wire at the oil change,
triggering a fat bell,
and a group of girls in silver leotards are reflected
like spatters of sap in its windows—
liquidine, firm, gleaming.
It’s a Game Day; they are the girls
chosen to split in tempo to the brass band,
heel of a front foot sliding over Astro-Turf…
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