Ken Wheatcroft-Pardue: July 4, 2017

On TV, Bogie in a trenchcoat is paused
exactly between knowing and not knowing.

While outside fireworks pop
in the daylight’s last gleaming.

10 years ago, on the Redneck Riviera,
my wife and I watched

the Gulf reflect rockets’ red trails,
spider webs of explosions.

Ohhs and ahhs wafted between waves,
as embers slowly floated toward their end.

After burgers and wine, we made love.
a couple long-knowing each other’s just right spots.

Later we lay in bed. Curtains opened,
half asleep, our breathing in sync.

Two hearts surely beating as . . .
An unhinged locust squalls.

Exactly two years ago she died.
Her pictures are here and there.

I do not cry –
well, much, anymore.

For more on Ken Wheatcroft-Pardue, please see our Authors page.