That Feeling When You Accidentally Go on a Date with a Writer
He teaches me a lot of stupid things.
If you get tired, put a handful of almonds in your pocket and eat them one by one.
In your twenties, it’s acceptable to sleep in the bed of your truck.
Age is so much more than just a number and you should say it li-locks not lil-acks.
Lastly: lately, everything is lavender.
But I already know that.
I already know afternoons are simple like Sunday nights.
I know reading books out loud together on the carpet like something is missing.
I know it’s two kisses, then goodbye, when I leave him at the truck.
In the snow, in that order, in the lavender winter.
I know all of it. I don’t need it.
Poetry is nothing but a vacuum.
Margaret Yapp lives and works in Minneapolis. Her work has been featured in the minnesota review, Whiskey Island, Midwestern Gothic, and elsewhere.