Second Booth

The restaurant had been vacant for years,

and I walked by it every day

when I headed to campus.

The spider web curtains fluttered

each time I stepped near

and I knew it was your ghost.

You lingered in the second booth

with a malt glass full of our memories.

I felt your smile press into my back

as I walked by.

You had left school after the first year

when you had perfected a failing grade point average

and your father had shipped you

boxes instead of books.

We had dated for the last two weeks

but had hung out all year

in the second booth of the restaurant.

Our kiss was your last hurrah

before you moved home

then became a ghost

tucked in random emails 

and loose photos pinned to my wall.

I kept waiting for them 

to tear down the building.


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