When woods drew up dry
like puckered lips, we went
down to the river to drink
and sunbathe and be queens
like queens of old and do nothing
with our lives but proclaim
and proclaim This beer is mine
and mine is yours and yours is mine,
laughing our heads back
like we were lemon wedges
about to be sucked or twisted
into a drink to sweeten up
the heat of a dry dry afternoon socket
of wood and river and river
and wood. The heat. All
what could be slaked
was slaked with beer,
with smoke, with tears, with jokes
as our sweat sweated, beads
multiplying upon beads, a shimmer
of relentless damp, a shimmer
of glamour among teens. Jenny
would pee standing up, proclaiming
I am a king and I am a queen. All
you see is mine! And who best
to answer back, but her own voice
in opposition. My laughter
did not even shatter the echo,
not even a little bit. Jenny showed
me how by tucking my hair behind
my ears and holding my face
in her hands. When she kissed me
courage welled up. In her hands,
I melted easy. Heat and drink, body
of water, going on and on, summer’s leg
bone extending into autumn, all
the way down to winter’s toes.