The Small Afternoon Poem by John Courtney

easiest to get here
early in a morning
when bombs've exploded
so rain can get down
out of the wrong eyes
consisting entirely of memory
looking at a calendar
well into February
to remember nothing happens
unfolding a map of Russia
to feel cold
pulling up to the gas pump
in a car you filled
only yesterday.

easiest to board trains
in the middle of a life
when the money's good enough
to get over an ocean
or pay the animal to stop
in the middle of a desert
so you can be sure
it was just a mirage.

easiest to love you
with brand new bombs
through the blinds
so rain can get up
into the right eyes
consisting entirely of flesh
mapping out a world
well into our nineties
paying heating bills
to feel warm
and refrigerator magnets
to remember that
we happened.

easiest then to die
in the small afternoon
on your kitchen floor
when everyone's working
a jar filled with peanut butter
a jungle filled with kittens
and the television's on
and the television's off.