Pot Roast

While climbing the barbed wire
fence that surrounds the yard,
after sprinting across the
grass perimeter and dodging
a peppery spray of bullets
from trigger happy prison guards,
and zig zagging on fleet foot
and crawling through a maze
of searchlights swung
in my direction, before the
hounds were set loose, and
the sirens wailed, and my pals
in orange jumpsuits inside
banged their spoons and tin cups
agains the bars. I thought about
you, on the beach in your red
bikini and a tall umbrella glass
with a slice of pineapple wedged
inside, your red lips on the straw.
I wondered if you had received
my postcard and knew that I was
on my way, had the table set,
the bed sheets, fresh and new,
flowers on the table. Your kids
over at your mothers. A pot roast
in the oven.