Next door was a carnival, families kept

walking by, teenagers in

groups. We sat on plastic chairs in

your yard. You told me about the

women you’d known, your history,

woman by woman. It wasn’t pretty.

You have too little resistance. A friend

came by, gave you money to get more

beer. It grew later and later, lit by

carnival lights and music. You are

sad I am leaving. I am not, but

didn’t say it.

I am counting the days.

by Cher Bibler