Emily Vance Brown

Once a year, in May, we take his boat out on the lake
And pretend the other isn’t some kind of disappointment.
He’ll tell me about his new home project, new paycheck,

new motorcycle—the new fiancée’ll be there too. 
They’ll talk about God and GMOs and the vaccines
that contribute to our decaying morality.

I’ll nod and smile politely when they say
the homosexuals are infecting the country.
I’ll remember how this time last week I was kissing

a girl I met on Tinder in a cemetery parking lot—
how when she leaned in to kiss me 
her teeth hit mine so hard I saw sparks. 

She laughed and I did too but one week later 
she’s faded to memory and my tooth still hurts.