Sunday School Picnic: What Endures Poem by Gregory Orr

At the picnic, a fisherman
hauls water weeds and an old
hat from the lake. A whisper
among the charcoal smoke:
"You shall not live forever."
under bare feet, warmth of pine
needles as we climb
in bathing suits up a path
to the tower; icy damp
of its stairs. We never
touch, we'll never meet
again, but as we lean
together on the balcony,
I glimpse eternity beneath
her pale green suit:
Small breasts, pink nipples.