Ten and Two Weeks

My arms have learned to keep my sides company.

Their placards have drifted above their heads while I’ve

learned to wait and hope for misery,

because all of their soundbites that bite at

the sky from megaphones held by

optimists who I despise and admire are

ones that I wish could fuel my own utopia,

my own revolution,

my own dream,

which is that you can lay bare-chested

smiling at me with no concern for


© Sam Hunt, 2017


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