John Dorroh
Threesome
I swear I wasn’t eavesdropping or spying
on the young couple as they waded into sea
oats, bedded in dunes of white sand, spread wings
like the albatross who didn’t have a plan,
living on silver minnows & insects that fly
like miniature missiles in the salt breeze.
They forded into my marsh, unaware that someone
was there, stretched out on a blanket, bare chest facing
the early summer sun. I was there first. I like to read
& sip my botanicals. They could have left if they’d seen
my spread, but I swear there was room for all of us.
They lay so close that I heard her scratch his beard
with the back of her hand. I also heard their conversation,
grimaced each time the oats cried out in pain,
arching their backs, pressing flesh into terrycloth.
It was a bold architecture & left me wondering
if it had been their first threesome.
