August

I would rather
sprain my ankle
jumping over a log
behind the neighbor's shed
than ask why she
is crying.

I could coax
a whimpering lab
from a scorched yard
and we could live
in the merciful shade
of the woods
beyond the main road.

You never feel the bite
of a thirsty tick
already pregnant with blood
when you're swinging from a rope
a roar from the gut
with the allegiant
world beneath you.

And beyond the vibrato
of your breath
as the concrete crashes
underfoot
you are smiling.

The shouts and whoops behind you
sound like howls
as your head heaves
side-to-side
waiting for the end
of the world.