Everything is full but she
keeps pumping on the inside
chintzing up the outside till her month becomes
a regular rococo whorehouse in an expanding economy.
Back and forth salaam salaam the sprinklers
graze and pray on plush
carpets of grass, beer becomes sweat, the heavy
air surrounds, mothers us to immobility, the mind
melts, the elements
slump, four fat uncles in their lawn chairs, while the flesh
well the flesh just ambles into town to get drunk
with the ball players.
We knew this ripeness and we knew
her smiling, solitary
reaper.
The shiver slid
beneath the sunburn with the fatal
rightness of a shift to minor key:
she loved him, she dressed up in her gypsy best,
she left.