Periphery

Periphery

Thankfully Puerto Vallarta has Walmex.
Second day in, I bought a racquet there.
Might have been your skirt, your mane,
or the way both bobbed, swaying, bringing
the corner of my eye to the balcony.

Third day, I was out there with my Yonex.
Walking around, waiting for no-one, while
the ball-machine spat yellow missiles.
Nothing got past your Prince. On a bench
I died death after death. Sweating.

Fourth day, fifth. I'm sitting there dissecting
every grunt. You bent to tie a lace, and I
leaned over heaven's banister. Without
looking left, you caught that bullet in your
hand. And I knew, I should go now.

c. Ciprianowords, Inc. 2010.