Shawn Aveningo-Sanders
Our Last Vacation

Sun rays beat through the blanket of blue,
as we lounge by the pool, estranged.

Steel spokes support a web of canvas
shielding aging alabaster from the burn.

Mojitos can’t quite quench your thirst for something new,
your mouth agape as you stare.

I can feel you yearn for the young bronzed beauty
sauntering by in her turquoise sarong. She

casually glances your way. Your reply: a wink
and a not-so-subtle, flirtatious smile.

I reach over to pluck the mint leaf stuck
between your guilty teeth.