Here is what’s borrowed:
We have all begun to look for something blue.
The whole act is old — cowboy hat and borrowed suit,
and just because your mother walks you down the aisle it doesn’t mean you’re
A good guy.

Old time chivalry with a hot tipped iron, welding the other with burn smack,
the crackle of cattle brand skin curdle, leaning into the blonde at the bar, the one with the pest dog named bean or something diminutive. They kill the lights around midnight. And it barks while you fuck.

What heat does to us, what it does to cats who can’t help but rub up against shit
and couples that stick and drip around the store shelves, waving in the desert like a mirage, edges blurring out like melting bride/groom toppers or something made to last in theory. They froze most of the wedding cake but left it at the venue. Whoops!

On a honeymoon ranch, one without a heart shaped bed but with a couple of slow horses, we ride sun hardened saddles, moulded to different asses and tethered together with one bungee cord.
Heat wobbles the horizon line and no amount of squinting will straighten that mess out.
Why didn’t we go to Miami or something?

We can barely hold ourselves together in the car.
The roads are every way but straight ahead for some time,
which makes whatever I call my belly jump, the parts of maybechild swish like a gargle.

I spit in a receipt, crank the AC.


Zoe Kurland is an English Major at Columbia University. She loves radio and poetry.