Any day now the planes will fall, br The plum will fall from the plum tree’s br Lip, br And the little blue girl will look upon it br And drool- She will not think that br These are the tools she’s seen, br Or that the deeper narcissisms would have br Begun constructing gravities and fairy-tales- br All the neurosis of having fine young br Entrepreneurs as forbearers- Angelic br Youths whose blond hair wilted to silver, br Who no longer straddle the earth dirtying their br Short pink buckskins, br But instead go inside when it rains and talk on br The phone. She will tell the ants to take the plum, br Even as the sky quickens and begins to fester br Like putrid cottage cheese. br I watched her stare at it for hours atop br Hadrian’s Wall- I wasn’t supposed to be there. br I was supposed to be hoeing my father’s row, br But the composition of the still-life she formed br Intrigued me so that it was too late to learn my lesson, br And the enemy’s keen arrow knocked me in the side br From out of nowhere. br Pirouetting like a gallant destruction br I became still and broken beneath her gaze, br Like a whispering fruit where I could see the ants br Marching with multisegmented expectations, br Heave-hoing from her saturnine conduction. I didn’t br Know what I was doing, and neither did she. br The arrow had broken off and dug deeper like a serpent br For more knowledge. br She watched me until the rains started br Showing her bee-stung cleavage. br I thought maybe she almost decided a wicked smile br Before she turned like a heavenly shadow at morning br And drove home still drooling to eat; br I pretended that after I died she would come and look at br Me again, but I knew she would tell none of her family, br The enemies. br I took comfort and waited for the ultimate return.