They are out there somewhere,
the lovers at summer camp.
It’s February here. That means
they must be on the other side of the equator.
Soon their counselors will arrive
in golf carts, shining flashlights
to herd them back to their bunks.
Therefore they take this time
to whisper nothings to each other.
Nothing, nothing, nothing, nothing,
nothing, they whisper
in Australian accents. All of this
will be nothing. A journal entry
re: the scent of grass in the dark.
The Southern Hemisphere
Jacob Eigen is a poet and fiction writer. His work has appeared or is forthcoming in Salmagundi, The Iowa Review, and The New Republic.
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