You cross the street.
Assured stride.
Looking quickly, side to side as you go.

The sun bows and
sinks into freckles,
shines red through auburn hair
and slips and slides up and down
the confident smile that warms your face.
Bathed in white gold.
Hair afire.
Blazing red in the breeze.

And I, in some dirty alley, just barely able to keep you in sight,
am pushing garbage out of the way so
I can lick up stale dog piss
from the cracks in hot concrete.
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About Jason Brightwell

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Jason Brightwell lives in Baltimore, Md., where He finds himself regularly haunted by one thing or another. His work has appeared or is upcoming in journals including The Blind Man's Rainbow, Phantom Kangaroo and The Battered Suitcase. You can find him blathering on and on at
   5 months ago
Whoa. That took an unexpected turn!

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