Evening at the Downturn
I don’t think I’ll miss,
she says, any one thing
more than another,
implicating, besides
the light jalousied through
the pergola, a blue jay
diving to pluck
a hornworm off a tomato
plant. I acclaim
the perfection
of the worm’s ugliness,
its near-invisibility
on the stalk.
She recants, denounces
the ugliness in
its perfection,
the green leaf tips already
turning brown.
Even here under
the beauty of an evening
at the downturn
our divided loyalties
show. Two sides to the same
coin tossed refutably
up: the radiant
flash at apex, the dusk-
leaden fall.
|