Clover Leaf Bar by Robert Bohm
We talk about football and making machine tools
and growing old and seeing the legs of women
covered with varicose veins.
For the stranger and I, nothing’s unseen.
We want to rip open each other’s chests
and tear out each other’s hearts and touch them.
Nothing else can keep us alive:
all the hospitals are boarded up and the doctors
roam the airport where none of the planes work
and the guards tote machine-guns.
Everywhere small-minded engineers weep
for their lost blueprints, decaying in the rain.