Poem On: Day 22

Togedemaru (#777)

One time we walked to town and got
creampuffs, big as a fist and too many,
and laid down in the thick field
by the high school, knees-up
nested, my forearm across

your little ribs, a single ball
shaped like the gravity
of our fullness and the storm
offstage. Smelled static conspire
against the nitrogen green turf.
Was that the warning? Or before,

in the cable forecast crawl,
or how that morning I paused again
when you wrenched my hand
toward adventure, or when some oracle
friend wrung truth from first impression
and a gin-hot jaw? We waited

for the weather, spikehair on end,
for reasons: You to harvest power,
roll away flash-blind in random delight;
me to die on that hill, finally right
about anything.