Waterbed

by Grace Koller

John pirouetted around the kitchen as
Onlookers looked on in amazement.
Twenty-seven years old today,
And he’d never once taken ballet.

His fiancé took photographs as she stood on the furniture.
That night they discussed the purchase of the rich neighbor’s
Waterbed as they stood
On the bridge up the mountain, and over the lake;
He asked her if she’d seen an upland plover, she said no, and he
Continued to eat his leftover birthday cake.

Even after he’d danced and fallen and she’d jumped in,
Their mouths were still stained blue from the frosting,
And they looked like drowning victims washed ashore
As they clung together for dear life
On the bottom of the great lake’s bed floor.