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She ExistsBy Nicholas Shipman QuailBellMagazine.com She sweeps through town a few magical Saturday nights a year, that heartbreaker wind out of nowhere with her glorious leather-clad thighs gripping the chopper her don’t-fuck-with-me boyfriend built for her when he finished his time and her hair is black fire a net of it flying to reel in lost souls and everyone who sees her falls in love and she treats them all just the same when she bothers to pause in her midnight ride whipping through town on a magical Saturday night and sometimes I buy her a drink and make her laugh, but I don’t think she remembers my name and when I move on she’ll forget me entirely and still you’ll see her screaming through town on magical Saturday nights and the net of her hair will grip you inside and that’ll be the best night of your life but don’t ever think with that fool-yourself hope that you could catch the wind. Nicholas Shipman is a poet originally from Boston who now resides in Richmond, Virginia.
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