Читать книгу Purity of Absence - Dave Margoshes - Страница 13

4H

after the fair

we took down the tents

wiped the cotton candy

from our feet

and washed our hands

in a stream of water

from a cold iron pipe

the livestock had kissed.

the sun was going down

and the children were gone

leaving deflated snowmen

of torn tickets

and apple sticks

in the swamp

where the midway had raged.

we walked hand in hand

the wind rippling soft

at the ribbons on our breasts

swirling the eddies of gold

left behind by judges

who should have known better

having known us so long.

well there’s always next year

and the years after that

rolling like meadows

across the horizon

to bring down the sky

and it’s not the winning

that matters

but the way we die.