decisions

i never know who else i'm going to
run into grieving up here

on the hill where your old lovers go
to scream, the graveyard
of pioneer children buried under trees,
and grace fletcher's headstone
resting on her piles of bison bones.

tonight there's a couple on a motorbike
by the train bridge
setting off fireworks with a cigarette,
sounding gunshots into
the thunderheads over the river.

if i'm gonna have to be without him
i can't decide
if i'd rather be the cigarette,
the train bridge,
or the firework.