After sundown, toward night,
the sky an oversaturated
lunar blue, darkening
imperceptibly. Regrets
flicker in and out
like the broadcast tower
lights above Fort Reno Park.
Two skinny redheads, in chain
studs and Megadeth T-shirts,
lie hugging in the grass.
Mark Tarallo writes about policy and politics as a free-lance journalist and ghostwriter in Washington, DC. New to publishing, he has poems forthcoming in Abbey, Angel Face, and Asphodel. He reports that “now it’s on to the B’s.”
