what if a bomb drops
comes whistling
waging, burning, busting

and everything gets blown away

before you can peek your head
through that chipped white door –
turn that dumb, stuck ****
come home to me
and call me your wife?

I don't think about it

*****'s got the window open
letting her arm get soaked
with each bomb, fat raindrop
expecting to hit Sandy Ridge Road
but rolls down the skin
of her idle hand instead

her eyes are stuck outside
looking at anything but him,

the cigarette occupying his lips
the screaming, mountain-dew-yellow of his shirt

wondering where she and he and they and them
and whoever will go after this

I don't think about it

me after you, you after I
anything in-between
if we come falling
like big bombs of raindrops

scatter into feathers
like those sparrows sold two farthings

God says He sees
tell me not to worry

tell me not to think about it