Dusk Hues

There was a fire across the sewerage canal, behind the trees,
And there was us, breathing smoke at each other, waiting for the air to clear.
There was pastel peach light along the edges of dark clouds.
And shades of green fast turning black as the sun disappeared.
There was the river of engine metal we pulled each other from. And the sirens
of city lights, singing of the other places we could be.
There was a tower emblazoned in neon red (a large lit cigarette).
Defiant. Like us. Against the dusk. And there was the music
from our little speaker: plucked strings lassoing us against a flat rock.
It all got sucked away so quick into quiet.
By the end our mouths tasted ash, and cotton candy.
You got scared because of how effortless the dark swept in.
I was happy to leave our chicken bones and apple cores in the dustbin.

Jarred Thompson
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