The Copper Sky

by Rachel Glass

We have lunch together, pretending the
greasy diner is a Hollywood restaurant,
pretending the water we’re sipping
is red wine. We don’t seek out
the ugly words in newspapers. Instead,
we seek out a park bench that
fits us like a favourite sweater.

The sky burns copper, like the
penny you picked up today.
Now, under a copper sky,
we seek each other’s smiles,
like finding a penny face up
on the street.