William C. Blome Red Sparks
RED SPARKS Walking inside a windowed concourse, moving from boardwalk to sea and above the ocean at dusk, I look out and down and spot my neighbor of six years ago framing my ex-wife for a photo before November surf. She’s still got those jumbo tits, though the value of her rubies is absolutely higher today than it was then; red sparks (seen now by a few folks other than me) play in and around the broken shells on the sand just to the left of where Great Headlights postures and poses for another picture. As the day keeps getting darker, I know everyone will see her sparks, and no one will be able to credibly say “I missed them,” or “They weren’t there when I just looked, and I looked hard as hell for a full five minutes.” William C. Blome
Botticelli Literary and Art Magazine
36