This punk is a folkie.

by Joshua Hart


This hand holding mall spree is a pipe bomb.
We kissed in the food court.
When we let go of each other’s hands
they will be sweaty
and they will be cold
in the air conditioning.

The walk to the car was an arms race.
I held the door open for you.
We tried to match each other’s disgust
of suburban America
but I sipped my Slurpee
and noticed we weren’t in
New York.

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