May 9th
That type of afternoon slack
held because of drink
in light like glass
bottles, discoloured windows or the sun.
I had already lost keys,
a phone and most of my money
when someone asked, How was the grass?
I wanted to stay flagstone-cool the whole time,
furtive among the dewed lawns
and slick beds of my home county.
The buildings here in imitation
of the land, safe houses,
and here in anticipation of weather,
and here in regard for the sick.
Another round comes round.
Pale ale for me—pale and unshaven.
There is a common good
here after last night
though it has been too hard won.
written by Will Burns