“Block Party” by Alec Hershman

10 August 2012 on Poetry   Tags:

When someone opened an umbrella
we were family against the sun.
The hours came apart like peat,

daylight inducing phantom cocktails
until customs could re-enter through the dinner guests.
Still, waiting on the oven's lamb I was a little drunk,

but happy to receive them: warm white faces
on the patio. I did not faun,
yet neither did I turn them down.

Our talk arranged the chairs
until the moon slipped on,
a thumbnail through blue muslin.

When someone was my sister
she could sew hot-air balloons, then drift
across malingerers. She knew the rules:

to crash was to be uninvited.

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