Nursery

You know it’s nice to sit in the clover

The man holding a squirming baby

Calls me over from the attic window

A brass band playing on someone’s lawn

I’ve killed every plant I’ve ever grown

In St. Alban’s Square we sat and ate paper

You called love a feeling of sacrifice

and enchantment at the same time

We took down my six sets of curtains

The flashing lights kept us awake

Examining angles in the lobby

We walked behind the train tracks

To an empty parking lot      A strobing lantern

Illuminating a car with no one inside