swiss

I learned to drink beer
up scaffolding
with red geraniums
(the realisation of 2 childhood dreams)

It was hot enough to make lifting crates seem like a sweated and romantic notion
like calloused hands or checked shirts
of mice and men

Later, I went to the park, rocked back and forth on the swings
trying to match stereo lyrics and birdsong

It got dark

The beer and the sunshine had soaked through my clothes
leaving me cold and damp with the residue
lonely for red geraniums
and lyrics about buses

When I got back the room was peering out over the nightline mountains,
a room with bed linen whiter than ironed shirts at 7am.
I slept softly on thoughts about swings and long months of summer

Dreaming a bed of fallen red petals
like nosebleeds in snowfall