Fresh Cut Grass Poem by Byron Headrick

Fresh cut grass, hides the stink of
Hot asphalt at the street café, where
Four years earlier, I met Jennifer
Adjusting her bra, when no one saw

Except, I can remember, the first
Thoughts of her were of Odessa, so
Different, yet their underwear
Was the same - black, lace
Too tight, flesh protruding.

I loved Jennifer in spasms, that she
Never appreciated the champagne or
Flowers, just sex and lingerie
In brown envelopes she sent
Polaroids from time to time
Thoughts still come, while I am
Kissing Katherine smelling
Fresh cut grass at the
Street café, reminded of
Jennifer who reminded me
Of Odessa.

The cycle,
Continues.