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Sport 35: Winter 2007



The fridge had an invisible leak
so that slowly the house
filled up with the smell of fish—
its small metal feet
sank through the carpet
down to the wooden floor boards.

On the balcony
we talked about breaking up,
you with yours
and me with mine.
The ocean underneath
kindly sucked up our words.
You told me about the painter,
how there was something there
but you weren't sure what,
and one kid later
I guess you were right.

In the house with the rotten carpet
everything is suspended
so the baby with wings
he can't use yet
will stay low to the ground for the moment
only ever pointing and saying 'up'.