July 2006/Volume Seven/Issue Two
Jacob McArthur Mooney
A Guide to Drinking in the Rain

What’s this called? A meniscus. A hundred
instant strip-mines, testing at my skin. Experience

erosion. What’s this called? Spread eagle.
The only difference between lying down

and flying. In six months they’ll pile snow
on the grass, spring will come and it’ll still

be there, confusing baby jaybirds. Foreboding: for
animals that can’t think. Foreshadowing is

a form of habit. Look up and count the
night’s grey hairs: one. In six months, we’d

be frozen to the ground, but tomorrow
kids will come here and play soccer. Their

mums will find my beer bottles. Yours, too.
There will be a shaking of heads. There’ll be

much discussion on the strength
of our community, the sanctity
            of gates.