Summer, 1996

And she’s all like, Teeth, Teeth Tuesdays, and here we go.
And I don’t know what she means most times,
but I’m not sure I’m made to.

Ice cream hands and short,
short skirts and all that.
Know what I mean? Know what I’m saying?

She had this walkman and we’d listen together.
Loud and static and lemonade grass stains.
The sun was always setting,

always, always setting.

Can you smell the air? Fresh.
Or as close as you can get.
A real hard try, anyway.

Pavement and pocket change.
Corner store sugar candy. Sugar,
on the outside and the inside.

Teeth, Teeth Tuesdays, and here we go.
She hurt me but didn’t mean to, didn’t mean to.
I don’t think.

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