from 17 years underground they
begin to stir, a vibrating hum, a love song
to entice a mate, pull me back to when
he and I shared a meal a bed a body:
filtered through a pandemic, photos of us,
of them, come to me second hand now:
something new to eat to feel…bugs
I think, unable to get past a word…
he took me to a Vietnamese restaurant
to taste what it was like for him there,
bombs went off in his voice and
got in my way, so loud he said
everyone says of them who
do no harm to us, or the earth;
we did a lot of harm, he said
who can’t come back; but they will
next year, in 17 years, with their love song
driving us mad again
