Unexpected Bats by Ann Walters

It was something like football on tv,
the difference between jelly and jam.

Too many stars crowd the sky, as though
everyone has placed a thought there.

Driving alone, I remembered all the things
I should have said to make you miss me.

A steering wheel wet with honest need,
unexpected bats flying at the windshield

like accusations. I brought a six-pack
from the comer store and we drank it

on the floor with the tv off.
Like the first night away from home,

we were edging around a pool
into which we had already jumped.

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