Richie Hoffman

You Couldn’t Lose Me

It was like waking up in California—
the awkward blossoms,
the sky an aggressive blue. I remember the smell
from your armpits, the greenhouse windows covered in white paint,
where the air was heavy. The silver
weeds. A small herd
of farm animals at the Agricultural College
wore the field to dust.
The wind was hot and fresh
on our faces. The donkey looked so dumb
trying to walk. It was simple: Beneath your shirt
was skin. I remember that first year,
pulling your briefs from the hamper.