For Steve
Taken from the vault,
it gets warbled, deeper, slurred
when the batteries inside begin to rot
and seep. Recorded
on the west bank
of the Saint Croix River before I knew
what that meant, our conversation
was my monologue—became yours—then
it just stopped.
Always hated fire
works, always
will. I’ll be staying
away. One bad jump
off a life
guard stand into State
Beach sand, a twisted
ankle no amount
of eye candy color
over the ocean
could soothe. Never
mind the explosions. Black
Market or Black Cat brand,
either way a 500-gram cake
of flame tails awaits
on the other side. I’ll not be crossing
the river or state line. I’ll be back
on that beach—super pyro,
invincible, never mind
the explosions.
Just never mind.
Night & Day Poems of Amy Nash 