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he was into old sandals and
plaid
shorts that flattered his pretty ankles
tanned from long
frisbee compitions
and
singing while strumming original tunes
in the heat of the day.
he smiled in that-
"hey beautiful"
sort of technique
and sat down for breakfast
passing on the bacon, to save the animals
i leaned closer
to hear him tell his pals of his dream of africa
and sailboats
-because that was his thing.
and brown curly hair
and animal savers
and tanned ankles
and plaid shorts
and africa dreamers
are my thing.
he was into unique t-shirts
with names of unique bands
from concerts in different time zones
that he anticipated for months
and even knew all the lyrics by the time it came around
because he's always been
a singer.
and so
he left,
taking his toast to go
while he left the tip by
the dirty plates
and slapped his friends on the back
ready to
drive home to his honey.
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