You, Me, and Puyallup
Mostly, though
not at all slick in
the late summer
dayclipses of
Puyallup where
we pose for pictures
underneath the
tilting sky.

The rides in-house
their satisfaction, and the
ice cream breaks over
our chins like our kneecaps
bending in an exquisitely
unintentional strut.

Our childhoods
live inside the eyeball,
the retina, the rotunda
of circumference, they
leave us casually yet
haunt the ghost-self
recriminating the reenactment
we partake in,

hush ourselves
like the sunrise

mostly, though
not at all.