Sport 14: Autumn 1995
Emily Perkins — July
He’s arrived, and the three of us
lie on the bed.
I open my eyes to see the sky
over the balcony wall. A water tank
on someone else’s building.
The red geraniums I haven’t watered.
You’re on the other side of him,
breathing, and he’s breathing too.
It’s Independence Day. Firecrackers
bang under cars.
Alarms go off. Shouts, etcetera.
We don’t know
what we’re doing next week.
Does it matter, you ask,
if we miss all the fireworks?
And this is the way it is for a while,