Shelter
Poetry by Dennis H. Lee
We brought each other
to some kind of wonderful feeling
ten feet under the vegetable garden
in Marty V’s backyard
on a green canvas cot
midst marked army cans—
Flour, Sugar, Salt, Water,
Dry Milk—
breathed rich mildew,
gasps smaller and smaller,
sweat where our skin touched,
my back chilled sweat,
a thirty-watt bulb on battery juice
humming in the dark
as we found our sex
beneath the earth’s skin.