Ed Madden

Outside the law school

As I walked to the law auditorium
for a reading, a boy in a sweaty tee
crossed the walk, so close I could smell him. 

Two girls at the crosswalk beside me
watched him—that thin shirt, thick
limbs—and the first stopped her story 

about her grandpa’s friend—drunk
or something, she said, told some woman
if I weren’t already married, think 

I’d marry you. Sweat glazed his arm.
People milled outside the auditorium.
The cold October sun was pale and warm.