After the Fall

No matter what swells
over the seawalls
of your love and buries you, 

the plumbing still crumbles, 
the car still runs dry. 
At night I chew bits 

of skin from my feet, 
catch mice with cracker 
crumbs in the sink. 
We still watch 
the moonrise together, 
an atomic tangerine.  

Looters roam the streets.  
We sit with shotguns 
across our knees.  

Cradle them like babies.

Asheville Poetry Journal
December 2017