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.