O Purple Jenny!
Where did you go?
My friends tell me that summer
started long ago. But it hasn’t.
You and I both know that
summer doesn’t begin until you decide to
return to our pool.
Sure, when I say “our,” I mean
“belonging to the entire apartment complex, even the old ladies who shouldn’t go swimming that often or wear sleeveless T-shirts, which is just unsettling.”
But my backdoor opens onto a small worthless patio
that then opens onto the pool
and that’s where you always used to be:
Laying out on summer afternoons,
swimming in the valley’s own heat,
wearing that purple two-piece forged from
God’s own designs.
Where did you go?
We — my roommate and I — we think you used to live
with Jorge, this guy we knew through a friend.
We’re pretty sure you two were roommates in a
nonsexual way. Or at least that’s what we told ourselves.
Not that it mattered.
But you were still part and parcel of the summers here,
a young and pleasing sign of the changing seasons,
a memory from our first real days here.
We haven’t seen you all year, and we realize that
you probably moved out.
But baby, you can always come back home.
