BREAKING UP IN A WAL-MART PARKING LOT
Shadows hung off our faces
like disguises we could
not fully remove.
What we said
didn’t stand a chance.
I wondered at the fat randomness
of three parked cars
the only cars for acres
and the parking lot
halogen lamps on high poles
buzzing as if
their real purpose had ceased.
It’s hard to speak of love
in a place with no use.
Curbs and concrete islands
formed a rational way out.
We should have cut across them
into the dark field
at the edge of illumination,
listened for the common sense of crickets
and felt for the slow motion of the moon.