War the War
War the war, the sorry edge
of us, because we stacked nice
clean plates for days, we were
sure things when love broke
across the headland, leaving
conch shells in ditches,
five fish slapping on the steps
of the old town hall, it was winter,
we were bonfires unattended,
our bodies litigating, agreeing
and writing it all down, the law
of legs, the law of how we sleep,
the law of shoulders killing me,
and now we fold clothes without
thinking my clothes your clothes
and war the war o happy war
what love we are so badly bitten
in this long-term necessary chapel
with all attendant relics, citronella
candle, junior hacksaw,
a box of miscellaneous wires,
our headland way-way underwater,
no one else beside us
but ourselves beside ourselves.
2020-09-04 19:50:11
3
1