I Landed into Dallas September by Hannah Pedersen

I Landed into Dallas September By Hannah Pedersen

I landed into Dallas September.

Fluorescent signals and dull lines melted with the asphalt

pouring myself on a overcrowded street

where I’d stuttered on my route to breathe through the heat.

The flirting breeze skirted past

hushing beads of sweat that clung to my skin

but an hour later I had a strong glass full

at a corner bar full of Mexicans.

A Baja woman drank with me

and told me how sweet I was

so I left the glass and agreed to dance

and somewhere between the spins

and dips her boyfriend found us 

before I felt the hit.

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I Flew into Denver April

BY ADRIAN C. LOUIS

I flew into Denver April.

Rock salt and sand peppered the asphalt

reflecting myself on a downtown street

where I’d paused on my route to smell lilacs.

The wanton winds chortled wickedly

over remnant snows in gray clumps of doom

and my heart soared gladly at winter’s death

but an hour later I had whiskey breath

at a dead end bar full of Indians.

A Winnebago woman waltzed with me

and told me how handsome I truly was

so I bought her drinks and felt her hips

and somewhere between the grinds

and dips she lifted my wallet and split.