He spent a hundred dollars on boulevardiers
then loaned me a pair of Army shorts.
I bled between dreams of unwashed nights
to the bells of children’s hymns.
No appetite for anything but our floating
heartbeats, Ginny and I quit teaching
to be midnight bandits, tag boys
from the snow to scarlet their shirts.
“Too much tongue,” the coroner said.
The time had come to eat all the chips.
I borrowed a white bikini to plunge
into St. Lawrence. Steam trailed us up the stairs,
strangers clapped in fluffy robes.
[photo credit: Ari Stern]
