For a long time we were greedy, gulping all
we could take in, dizzying ourselves with the delight of surfeit, but now
we eye each other suspiciously over a dwindling supply
of oxygen bottles.
I’m hoarding dried beans, and he
has a small supply of batteries. We trade cautiously,
out of sight of the others, and although we love each other
or did once, we are not
on the same side.
I dream of the way grass smelled in the springtime, and I
make lists of the things I can’t have.
It’s okay to be here. No one promised
any other ending.