happens to us all otherwise

the superstitions said that to stand where we stood
would be sheer madness; bad luck in the back room
and sad days under the cedars that stand so straight
by the sagging porch. the critics gave us credit for our
bravery, but mostly laughed and threw telephone-stones
at us. my feet slid nervously on the gravel but your eyes
flung escapist into the sky. the critics give us credit for
our bravery, but i'm only brave when you're beside me.

the swinging door that separated us, the battered aluminum
reminded me of the difference between our heads; it swings
like dented metal through the air between us. i don't know
what you mean and you don't know why i care and i don't
know why we bother trying this. they say it's bad luck but still--
i'm only brave when i'm beside you, and i like to hold your hand.