ABOUT JUMPING

On healthy winter days we are simply 

two souls drinking beer on a balcony. 

We laugh about jumping into 

the frozen lake below—

we are just drinking and laughing— 

we wouldn’t even know how to do it. 

While we talk and drink and laugh

the moon explodes far away 

over the heads of old men 

whose children

the government has drowned.

Mr. President’s fingernails burrow

into homes like ticks:

unnecessary food eaters

paying the chasmic price

of allegiance. 

The day, a burned out 

candle, collapses

as we swallow our beers in one gulp. 

How wonderful to be 

on a balcony, where neither of us 

needs to know how to swim.