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That kind of—a falling out—
when trouble floods the hills
and sidewalks walk and talk.
What is better sung today: the words
left on the floor
in khaki trench coats
with tennis rackets and caps,
and hoodies with logos and bats—
drinking port in large plastic cups?
That was the kind of first summer’s day
where we found ourselves:
a falling out with something to
prove and tomorrow on our shoulders.

She hung to my hip like red
wine I spilled on her white summer dress.
There on the cobbles of stone, clacking
her two-inch open-toe sandals
like limp Greyhound cabbage,
she left me howling at the moon
and laid me finally for supper.

I threw up first.

And before the bug bites blew up,
before her feet began to hurt, or
we could finish dessert—she
blew away the loose ends of my
dandelion.

We made love again, by God:
some sirloin baking in the sun,
some cutlet peeling crumb by crumb,
and she hole-punched silence in my
words.
She left but a few punchy verbs—
again, by God, we made love,
second and third, fully dressed,
butt naked in the moon’s light, with which,
again by God, we found ourselves
making breakfast.

She sees a poet in my mad distress.
I told her I like bacon with my
eggs—and cheese, please—
but light on the salt
and HOT SAUCE.
She lit we,
me, and I.

That kind of—a falling out—
when trouble floods the hills
and sidewalks bake the sun open
into a teal-yellow meadow,
and I start to cry, and
something is left lingering on the
touch of her tongue, as though
a creature driven by a savage hand.

We let the tide roll in
and sweep away the sheets,
and run back the linen river,
and spread the finest spectacular
rumple down on canvas painted
with the eyes of our night,
by her obvious over-delight.

Only this poet can make words
turn to light, and cast away
the shadows into a bleeding
sunset,
into the silence of a senseless
day
where words became the names
of things—
oh, what a feeling, that king
of a falling out—where trouble
turns a deep yellow
and chocolate melts
under your pillow.

That was the kind of first
summer’s day where we
found ourselves: a falling out
with something to prove
and tomorrow on our shoulders.

dandelion