post millennial tension
She leaps up on deck and you watch transfixed as she dances with a pitchfork in her hand. Her fringed boots flying with the rhythm of the rumba that resonates in your head.You see the curve of her knees, hear the tap of the feet, but her face is hidden.
She flings the pitchfork out onto a misty ocean, and before you know she is gone, overboard with a splash. Later, you look out through porthole windows onto a moonlight sea, knowing that she won’t be there.
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