denim shorts cut right to
to the ass. Pink handlebars,
a black and white striped backpack
holding grapes. Lizzo
blasts from the speaker on
the straps. Strapped leather,
friend-made harness visible
under a mesh black top,
flowers over the nipples.
big, big flowers on the sides
of the lake path. One cheek
slides out the shorts. I look
behind me and see everyone
in bloom. You ever been
rimmed underneath a tree
older than your grandma?
I pack lipstick shades for the
evening plans, dancing the
legs away. I pack baby blue
scissors that snip soapwort
for vases, hydrangeas in
wine bottles, fill the dining
room table. I think the city
plants them just for me.
Summer, for me. I plant
kisses on every budding
leaf. I watch the sun glint
from the lake and realize
nothing could shine as
brightly as I do, today
People say I look cute in my purple bike helmet and I believe them
Sam Herschel Wein (he/they) is a Chicago-based poet who specializes in perpetual frolicking. Their second chapbook, GESUNDHEIT!, a collaboration with Chen Chen, was part of the 2019-2020 Glass Chapbook series. He cofounded and edits Underblong. Recent work appears in Moon City Review, Sundog Lit, and Perhappened Mag, among others.