To Buy or Lease
Travis Brower, the art teacher,
our colleague at the school,
was only renting the house
whose property sprawled
greenly just north of the interstate
but far enough to call the white
lights, red lights susurrating stars
running the valley’s rolling folds,
a blessing of the night.
Angela was house-sitting, chaperoning
The teenage French au pair when we,
adults, decided to walk in the summer air,
wandered into the warm outside
where the woods wrapped around the
yard’s far rear edge and a low creek
burbled below a muddy cherub
of stone who would have kept the secret
of the kiss I couldn’t place on her near face,
had I determined to make the purchase,
unlike Travis—who even had a kid—
on these firefly acres and hardy brick.
We strolled back over soft-dewed blades.
Angela said she should check on the good
and useful girl from beyond the waves.
I cursed myself, my lack in safe quiet,
weakly imagined the resolute grasp
of her shoulders, the kiss by the stream.
At the well-appointed rental, bathed
in responsible light, found cold comfort,
compensation in a board-game with the two.