"our share of the shade" by Zachary Troyano

"our share of the shade"

we’re cast trespassers, high on weed-whacked grass, eyes a dry tie-dye gloss. sleepy sprinklers dance off their dust, it seems budding flowers want little to do with us. so we sit, soaked and see-thru, blaming postmodernism that promised to kill dated distinctions, those played out round table traditions. how it used to be can’t hold us and it seems we’re stuck standing in front of some unvaccinated juul hooligans, citing fresh prince influences. don’t they know forked tongues go numb from guilt? a feeling forgotten. but can we the blame frog throbbing in their throat when we know our share of the shade, using cold passivity to cope.