Will Eaves

Thursday

Will Eaves

Bolivia

for Lucy Dallas Because they wanted to go home and some bit part, a rat in deep cover, raised the alarm (he had done harm himself, but legally, and hid his shame) or, falling in slow motion, the cashier, shot through the heart for moving a finger, reached with his last breath for the dead guard’s Peacemaker and returned fire – because of this taped riot I’m here watching the sun dance to our own live show, few words between us and the telling air, the sum of what was not but is now clear, how Redford in his larcenous prime loved Katharine Ross the schoolteacher and there was time to come for them beyond the frozen fusillades of blame as secretly we bless bad breaks, like “Bolivia?

Thursday

Will Eaves

The Half of It

A hot child sees itself and cries. The kind face kissing through the glass Perhaps half wants the things to come To be the things already done, Like thank-you letters. I was home By eight! I had a lovely time. Can you believe how much he’s grown? ‘Train gone,’ he says. He weighs a ton. Back in the car, the calm’s a front. Cumulative embarrassment At having bought a foreign make Glues pink parents to grey plastic While their home-grown self-scrutineer Flops sideways in the Honda’s rear. Sometimes the gone are gone for good. Then others step out of the shade To hold and kiss and separate A hot child in the glassy light From smiles that say, we lied, it’s true. It doesn’t mean we don’t love you.