poet

Dana Goodyear

by this poet

poem
I play with an old boyfriend, to tease you out. 
In white shorts that you’ve never seen before.
You storm—wind, panic in the tree.
Rattling like the genius
like the jealous man.
Making it impossible to hit.
So nothing clears the net.
An inside joke, my comingback love:
He can’t return, but you can?

After an