He said nothing to them
but accepted their presence
At the press of the last inspection
I think we’re ready
I’ll go flying with you
longer and farther away
maybe the furthest away
Are you supposed to sing?
I asked, you know.
Wildly, your gaze shifted
the corners of your mouth upturned
you sank into an impossible posture
chaos just visible out the far side of the window
I began laughing
not bad at fireworks, either
Alexis Mattos, Greensboro Bend
This poem was written for the Verse-Village celebration of April Poetry Month.
