Even in the country

SaraNoa Mark


On white wicker, rocking forward toward dusk
We don’t find the mosquitoes’ bite erotic
It makes all the difference

We are pulling blinds
Pulling over roads
Counting till ten, then again
I’m serious this time

Having the same same same same
Scratching – skin beneath nail
While you pull plastic threads
off your skirt.

Shadows become insets
Floorboards warn
Hear the racing cars on the highway
So quickly, so late at night