It was the end of an era unharmed

the north sky still smelled heavy of slate

before they cauterized the fens the farms

at oyster bars we’d vaunt our weight

we still had flags before the fountain store

quit selling fountains none could afford

to keep their yachts named Emerald Vermillion

ghosts named for colors littered the seaboard

the tide came way in each flag became a noose

I used to wash my apples in apple juice