I was who I was even after the near misses,
those satellites sliding by & flinging starry
space debris. I admit I took the lead on that,
asking for what I received, but you didn’t
have to drag them back down to Earth
when you dragged me through whole fields of un-
named thorns. I came unstuck eventually
& since then I’ve been a stickler for avoiding
that sort of pain, so when you came around again
I asked you for the correct gravitational math–
no decaying orbits here, not on my watch–
but you merely shrugged into your new bomber
jacket & slicked back your hair.
That hurt. In the sky, the uncontrolled re-
entry trails are brighter than the street lamps.
When they reach the ground, they burst
like milkweed pods, planting flame. By now,
the VIPs have checked into their shelters
& left us to save their houses, but we delayed.
You tell me I might as well be doing the burning
myself & I agree & slip into my fire gear.
The burrs will be the first things to grow back.