broke

we were broke and there was a red snapper in the road still alive and you slipped it into a bag you were biting your lip out of the blue you said we never have fresh flowers so we snatched flowers from the park ran to the beach through a mustard field lit a fire and steamed the fish in wet newspaper airplanes shot over the bay you said you felt smaller than an ant I was roaming like a vulture

 

Paul Lowe