i sit,
in my watchtower
viewing hiked skirts
from a 2nd floor
pealing off the skin
crusssssssst
on my arms, thinking
“19”
i,
sit,
green from trees
invading,
pupils dulling,
life multiplying,
i in my infertile
watchtower,
above coffee shop
2nd floor,
watching hiked skirts
bounce through streets
the ghost of
charlie haunting me.