The fronds

swim backstroke on the pavement

wink silver at the stars like

fin rays

picked clean by the dark

 

We step lightly on the grass

stick to the main path

clutch our keys and

listen for another set of warm lungs

 

The ghosts of girls like us

are misting

statistics

 

Maggots winking in the undergrowth

 

40% will die

slick with white mould

 

their kidneys green-blue and shining.