Do you remember that fish fry? 
Almond-eyed angels descended upon 
        the circular mud of the fairgrounds, 
Their pinwheel fire fingers 
        upstaging blind lawnmower races. 

How they swam 
Through dust, 
Manure air; 
Your peach-fuzz 
Leg brushed mine. 

Splintery bleachers, 
Rusty nail-heads 
Under April thighs. 
Slinky shadows on the 
        concession stand as 
Corndogs fell to a ground once 
        known as Mother Anchor. 

I swear an almond face smiled 
Down on me as I 
Found courage in chaos to reach 
And squeeze your hand with all the feeling 
        that I was not alone. 

Come Monday, I heard you. 
In the hallway you spoke of swerving 
Lawnmowers, bleachers and me; 
But no angels.