Kate Sweeney
August in Scituate
That summer you hauled oranges and drove a white truck,
the kind with a single cab and flatbed
where the seat goes straight across the middle.
The kind that the sun heats so hot, when you took a corner,
I’d slide across the sticky humid leather
and land beside you.
leg to leg.
Several oranges always fell on the road
split open and bruised,
but you never seemed to notice.
The same summer,
you let that guy stand over me
in the bathtub, watching,
while I shaved my legs for the
very first time. He kept his
hands in his pockets, and his
crisp white shirt buttoned, this time.
The laughter looping;
you, laid out on the bed,
you, smoking a joint,
you, waiting for him to finish.
and he, slowly dragging a
finger down your thigh
to the arch of your foot.
the kind with a single cab and flatbed
where the seat goes straight across the middle.
The kind that the sun heats so hot, when you took a corner,
I’d slide across the sticky humid leather
and land beside you.
leg to leg.
Several oranges always fell on the road
split open and bruised,
but you never seemed to notice.
The same summer,
you let that guy stand over me
in the bathtub, watching,
while I shaved my legs for the
very first time. He kept his
hands in his pockets, and his
crisp white shirt buttoned, this time.
The laughter looping;
you, laid out on the bed,
you, smoking a joint,
you, waiting for him to finish.
and he, slowly dragging a
finger down your thigh
to the arch of your foot.
Biography
Kate Sweeney (she/her) has poems in Feral, SWWIMM Everyday, Adanna Literary Journal, and Littledeathlit, and poems forthcoming from Ethel Zine & The Shore Poetry. She is Marketing Director for The Adroit Journal and currently resides in Los Angeles. Find her on Instagram @katerenaud and Twitter @imperfecthirst
