He comes around, around once per week
With a crate full of pears, crunchy and juicy
He comes around, around the corner
quoting Saint Augustine (he studies, doesn’t preach)
He comes around to take the bottles
The deposit he can keep— he pays for postage stamps and gasoline
Around the house, he comes in my mouth
Between trips to the beach, grit of sand in my teeth
(He pauses)
In August, he comes to understand
the difference in our circles, a line he can’t breach
He’ll come back for me, he says
He sends postcards every week