Ghazal for Sunny Days

I died yesterday, when I heard about the men,
their spiked armor, hot and heavy breath that took men.

The sun spewed asteroid spit, yet
yesterday they were at their front doorstep, only men

downing a strawberry milkshake at the drive-in, mean men
meant well when they loved a kid so hard they shuddered; an old engine.

Were they really mean, or did they tell the truth like other men?
Did death twist their words into pits of glass, bursting at the sun?

I heard about the burnt-up lungs, the sun’s glare as the men
tip-toed their way in its gurgling hot core, their hubris a death sentence,

and I promise you I passed yesterday at the hands of men,
whose strawberry-milkshake sick smiles died in a flash.

Julie A. Larick is a student and writer living in Cleveland. She studies English and Environmental Science at The College of Wooster. Julie edits for The Incandescent Review and interns at GASHER Journal. She has poems forthcoming or published in perhappened mag, Ogma Magazine, and others. Julie loves to sew, watercolor, and was born in 2003. Her portfolio is http://www.julielarickwriting.com and her Twitter is @crookyshanks.