Читать книгу Bright Dead Things - Ada Limón - Страница 15

THE GOOD WAVE

A bat cracks in the flickering background

and we’re dead tired from the horse track,

all those losing bets stuck crumpled up

in our cheap fedoras, but no one, not even

the dog, is unhappy. Baseball announcers

are trying to be funny about nothing, crowds

cheer on the momentum of the home team

and it’s not too early for pj’s, or promises,

or some low-sung lullaby that salutes

the original songs on the inside. I decide,

someday, to name a kid Levon, and you

agree, and outside the dark traffic groans by

on our curving country road making a sound

like the slow roar of applause when

the home team’s tide unexpectedly turns.