The Argument

The blue chair near the bookcase holds his casualty.
He catches his breath to speak, a continental task.
They check themselves, begin to size up the lay between them.

She flips on the TV. The world floods the startled room.
They're two tight citizens stunned by its geographic presence.
Perhaps it's not a multinational crisis, yet.

He pulls out his notebook. It's under the orange chair.
See this photo? It's them in 1994.
She thinks, Please, honey, let's not keep score.

We both need sleep. It's not as if we tied
a triple knot in the line our lives will take.
Two hundred arguments have come before.

They open the windows and doors
to air things out. It was nothing.
Things are not so grim in their small country.