John Dedeke

Dynamic Writer Guy

Untitled

PoetryJohn DedekeComment

Who would have thought we’d leave behind haunted chairs, invisible burns on grassy fields, scuffed floors lit by exit sign?
Who expected the initials we carved to outlast us?
Who knew black eyes could be permanent?
Who thought the bathroom stall a stage?
Who signed his name in laughter?
Who made out with her eyes?
Who did this when we weren’t watching, when we had no choice, when we knew no better than to look ahead?