Late Last Night

We slept on my grandmother’s porch,
how we got there, who can say?

Dogs approached, snarling and circling;
I cried out, and you held me close.

Later, came sounds from the road,
a grinding of gravel and boots;

you said it was Amit Shah’s man:
he stunk of whiskey and malice.

He said he’d be back in the morning,
whether or not I was pregnant—

as he left, the wind changed direction
and brought back the scent of still water.