By: Frank Martin
Everyone in the trailer park knows that April liked dudes with ponytails because they’d get sweaty and lash her. Their hair, that is.
“Geronimo’s so cool.”
His braid warmed her on Valentine’s Night.
She saw him again in one dream that Indian summer. She slept nude with the sheets off. In desert visions she mused a swollen cactus, untouched by him, blurred by heat. She awoke alone, not in a cold sweat, but because she was now soaking from the waist down.