Jon Loomis

Lucky me [A Love Song]

Under the screen porch a cricket
winds its watch, marking time
like the rest of us—

moon-sieve through the clouds,
late summer untying its green shoes.
Things are good now—our mantra

these days—the children are healthy,
the bills paid, the old house not entirely
falling down. Things are good now,

but someday they won’t be.
Someday the ambulance wailing
down State Street will turn at the light,

and old You-Know-Who
will climb out, scratch at the door.
Things are good now—nice view

from this dining car, but the brakes
are on fire, the trestle’s washed out,
and the engineer calls for more coal.

For Christ’s sake, let’s take our cocktails
upstairs, let’s go to bed naked and fuck
in this silver rumple of moonlight

while we still can, while we still want to—
I’ll never be younger than this, my love,
or better-looking. If there’s a God,

some guy on a cloud who makes wishes
come true, here’s what I’d wish for:
To live in this world a while longer,

but not too long.