Some days it was the way her clothes draped
Some days it was the weather.
Some days it was because she swore the whole town
was made of cheap buildings
with even cheaper fluorescent lights.
Bulbs that turned everything they touched
into a blander version of itself.
Not like the downtown signs of cities
with an ever-present hint of scandal.
Not like the streetlamps
that made wet pavement look like a golden river
An untouchable mirage.
These lights emitted an ugly greenish tinge
that made everyone look the same,
masking their substance.
But it didn’t matter if it was October third
or August nineteenth
or the first of May
or New Years Eve.
They were all the same.
These were the days of exit strategies.
— “Exit Strategies,” submitted by thateternalsummer