By John Grey
Dark clouds thicken over the lake.
Lightning could strike its waters any moment
It’s the most perverse of swimmers
who splashes and laughs in the face of such threat.
Or she’s riding her luck.
No, she’s riding my luck.
One brisk bolt burns her to a crisp
and she’s got all the good fortune of the dead.
I’d be the one crawling back to the truck,
cursing the fates, the sky, like thunder.
Rollercoaster roars through the hot summer night.
From my vantage point, it seems powered by screams.
She could pass out. She could be sick
all over the car in front. So why am I the one
at most risk of these things? Why is it my
heart palpitating overtime, my hand reaching
up to my mouth before the retching begins?
I’m just the spectator but the danger’s with me.
She drives so fast, I’d never survive the crash.
She’s so careless with drugs that one day I might overdose.
Everything she does, I face the consequences,
despite my prudence, my caution.
The most hazardous thing I do is love her.
She easily survives the fall.