Tuesday, December 4, 2018

Blue Springs. by Gabriel Bates



So many miles we drove,
not knowing it'd be the last time.
When my heart races,
I go for a walk;
you held me once
when that happened.
So I picked a peach rose for you,
stuck myself on its thorns too;
this symbol of gratitude.
Laughing at me,
you said you loved it most
because I stole it
from the neighbor's yard.
Then that long drive home.
"This just isn't working,
I thought I could do it but I can't.
I'm still glad we tried."
That cheap bottle of whiskey
was gone before we hit the state line.
I stumbled out of your car
and headed to my doorstep,
no kiss this time.
Only goodbye.






Gabriel Bates is a contemporary poet living in southeast Kansas. His work has appeared in several journals, online and in print. He is currently working on his first chapbook of poetry. Keep up with him at facebook.com/gabrieljbates

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