Midwestern Erotic

by Margaret Young

Bite peach, juicing chin.
Shine like that firefly stroking
the screen of night, lit
air quotes winking hey baby,
up here, still up here, now over
here between black maples, black grass.

The diner’s neon sign is green and pink.
Follow the placemat maze, it ends at either lake
or fairgrounds, where you get lemonade
in giant plastic cups with built–in straws:
too sweet if you don’t grab that
yellow hemisphere and squeeze.