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