on the Comal

raise my arms
and lower them
to emulate
pedals pushed
the full five miles
as I’d been late
weeks before.

the girl who thrashed
in dirty rapids
while Yoo-Hoo and
Kirin Ichiban
floated away from
our sunburnt yearnings
as my right breast escaped.

I’m beyond positive
that the guy
who saw me blush
was my chemistry teacher
from tenth grade
who smiled with eyes
belonging to a painted western Jesus.

*A fond memory of a summer day, tubing on the river while never fully admitting to anyone on the trip that I didn’t know how to swim. 


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