There’s a fire behind the boathouse.
Plastic grass twisting in the heat, now blackening, now slinking into the ground
As if it did something wrong when it burned
Shamed by the long straight line of the army
Flames marching in time with the drums

If I turn away right now, if I run because I’m scared,
Will you forgive me?

Next to the old barbecue is a propane tank,
Not quite empty.
No one knows what kind of damage it can do if it explodes,
But here: picture it, how high it might fly
This happened in Thailand a few years ago.

Right around the time you took me on the water
Said I love you while you held my head under
Wondering what it would take to make me breathe

The smell of wood now from the back of the building
This is our curtain call, the last encore
Red fingers pull apart the stage,
Race for the door

In your beach chair you crack another beer
Check your phone, scratch your head
Pick up the paper, turn to all the numbers
Count them one by one, tapping in time with the burn.