Teal Screen Door

Teal Screen Door

It’s platinum November, the bouquet of the Fourth of July BBQ lingers, even the scent of missing you.

The chipped teal hue is emotive. Who knew grandpa would someday speak

the linguistics of acrylic some twenty years gone.

How can I forget last summer when the hinges swelled like a molecule conventional, stiffening the crackle and guiro as tight as a caw in a crow?

It’s been a while since you died. Tonight, in case you don’t know, I am drinking Jack Daniel’s on the redwood bench we built, and smoking unfiltered Camels into the tar of night.

The rusted door knob changes channel’s every time I take a leak.

With each in and out, dust wafts out from its cage in the screen, smelling as sweet as the sky, forgiveness, and the stale whiskey we drank at the beginning, on our failed wedding day.

And now I wait for the purification of funerals that somehow helps you move on.

I awake in the dawns early light from all the white noise.

Dan A. Cardoza 

Dan has a MS Degree in Education from UC, Sacramento, Calif.  He is the author of four poetry Chapbooks, and a new book of fiction, Second Stories. His has work in 101 Words, Adelaide, California Quarterly, Chaleur, Cleaver, Confluence, UK, Dissections, Door=Jar, Drabble, Entropy, Esthetic Apostle, Fiction Pool, Foxglove, Frogmore, UK, High Shelf Press, New Flash Fiction Review, Rue Scribe, Runcible Spoon, Skylight 47, Spelk, Spillwords, Riggwelter, Stray Branch, Urban Arts, Zen Space, Tulpa and Zeroflash.

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