They’ve been digging in the backyard again.
Like a cavity, the ground near the fence
has opened wide. From the kitchen window
something was spotted: a sky-blue promise,
a flirtation, an x.
The world is full of people
who get their teeth pulled. The world is full
of people who pray to odds, who close their eyes
when they sign. There are several other things
I would like to tell you, but not here.
There are rumours of gold, rumours
of a French maid buried somewhere near the compost.
In the moonlight you can see her garter belt,
so lacy a man could curl up in it and sleep.
They’ve been digging. The first one to tear a strip
off her thigh-high skirt and make a flag of it wins.