Burn Enough

A couple lived above the bar,
but she was far off lost in distant sights.
When they fought there would be dust
that fell from the ceiling and sometimes
even the lights would flicker slightly.
She would wear her night gown in front
of all the patrons to make him jealous
as a consolation prize.
She drank purple wine and read magazines
about money and its residue on the couch
until her teeth were red, and he’d be dead
out on the balcony counting the times
teenagers would cruise around the square
in their father’s convertibles. He’d flick
the ash from his cigarettes toward the leather
seats stuck behind the stoplights, and he counted
on the favor of the wind, praying it would carry
all the way and burn enough to start up
something even bigger.