Gemini Magazine
She had two asterisks by her name in the sixty dollar book

you can buy listing all the people who ever went to your high school.

Two asterisks. Meaning she’s dead.

Her back-combed, bleached-white

hard sprayed hair, her skin tight skirts,

her Marlboros, blue nails, bathroom fights,

all dead.

She never listened to anyone and didn’t

give a shit about her permanent record.

The last day I saw her was June 12, 1963,

sitting on a fast red Chevy, her graduation robe

already off, her killer legs dangling in the heat.

Our lives joined for one smile

through the haze of perfume, cigarette smoke, parents.

We knew it was the beginning.

We knew it was the end.
by Carol Gloor
Carol Gloor's work has appeared in many print and online
journals and anthologies, most recently in the print journal
Freshwater, and in the print anthologies Touching: Poems of
Love, Longing and Desire (Fearless Books) and A Bird in the Hand:
Risk and Flight (Outrider Press). She is a semi-retired attorney.
Above graphic courtesy
Scrappy Princess