The forest fire must have died for now.
It’s the morning and Rena’s gone to fetch the the Southern Star.
Rena’s put on Yo La Tengo on the stereo and
Made sure that my door doesn’t lock.
Silly Rena, you sweet mother of no child,
Whatever bitter thing you fear I may do,
Locking will be the last thing on my mind.
Cheers to our smokey, dry stories,
Let’s try as if we’re five minutes from the good Pacific.
The band repeats, today’s the day—
I’m leaving the door ajar for you all to watch.
