White chalk scrawling across green board then stops.
Long fingernails scraping across green board
then stop. Sweatered shoulders turning to me,
green eyes gazing through me, slender body
leaning back against green board, fingernails
clutching, raising sweater, revealing breasts
white as chalk. Green eyes turning and staring
at longhand four letters covering green
board, inviting heaven. Green eyes turning
back to me. Moist mouth opening…saying…
“Mr. Armbrust, where is Grant’s tomb?” Shaking my
head…brought back…I study green board’s only
words: “Grant’s tomb”. Hear shaking, hoarse voice respond
like a confused train conductor: “New…York…?”
Roger Armbrust
August 8, 2020
