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South Beach
by Earl Coleman
Plunge taken, splayed out soaken
on the yellow
spread, in favor with the sun, the endless season
on our side, it seemed that everything vacated then,
our histories, our kids at camp; hostilities put by.
We might have buried them that
minute in the blazing
sand had either of us owned a shovel and the will.
Still, I thought, cease-fires have their place, else
how
re-call the acid words you'd flung a week ago into my
face
(remarkably un-scarred, though
they had eaten half my gut)?
I turned to you -- for what? Expecting your recant?
Pour
out my heart? Your eyes feigned sleep. And then I noted
that your wondrous legs were only limbs, and wakened
in me
nothing, neither awe nor lust,
and knew the casualties
of this campaign had just begun to fall. In its debris
no single blade of grass would grow. And knew
that in the candlepower of our rage our passion would
not keep.
(Published by Red
Rock, 3/5/01.)
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