It's Only Tuesday

Julie A. Larick

Your fired laugh flashes and melts as
          we tug through the Ohio slush.
White flashes and hot flashes and flash,
          there goes my tongue and it flies into the air,
into your face and you open your mouth, crinkle
          your eyes which are gray but not somber grey;
gray in the unknown way, gray in the crashing sea way.
          And I’m a blue fire in the drizzling rain, and
though blue fire is hot, I’m burning alone,
          I’m burning a fever, but you temper the icey blaze,
you temper the whistling smokey fog,
          close to a sparking wildfire, and
we both know the world will end in
          six billion years, but it’s only Tuesday.
And what a wasted life if we don’t spend it
          tugging through the Ohio slush together.

Julie Larick is a student and writer living in Shaker Heights, OH. She is an English major at the College of Wooster. Julie is the creative writing manager for The Incandescent Review and has been published in Kalopsia Literary Journal, The Incandescent Review, Teen Voices Media, The Augment Review, Lake Erie Ink, and others. She loves to sew, watercolor, and was born in 2003.