Rancor thee
who could
take; and then again equally
leave all of this. A pumpkin-
smelling teen girl, long jersey skirt
quietly dark cotton swishing
this way and that on an afternoon
that's too hot for it. Could've had
a binder arm-clasped to the chest
looking this way and that furtively,
looking at me.
Over the heart
how when absent is hard to
see anyone. How when her—
when the beers come, one
after the other, after the other;
some time later—the world is
reduced to just bubble and hop,
and no man who reaped them,
or other friend who's drunkening.
Rancor, we. Bowl of potato salad
that one leaves, one takes home.
