Two Souls on a Tandem Bike, In Beige Trenchcoats
Matthew Ullery
his movements slow, his bones are ashes. he drags heavy feet, hands clasped together, a realist with a sense of humor, a half-eaten apple, brown.
she’s wearing your grandmother’s perfume. a shoe falling off, eyes on the ground, moving quickly, an idealist with an air of sadness, a cup of coffee, empty. they’re dressed for the rain with an endless list of ways to apologize, each word a mirror of another time; a half-eaten apple, green. a cup of coffee, full.
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