No Children Allowed

Remember when we lived on the island.
No children allowed. Remember?
Dancing our heated bodies into love and sleep.
Drink-frenzied, witty, humid, brain-sodden.
No Children Allowed To Be Born it said
humorlessly over the liquor bottles in the cool
ferny bar as we swallowed afternoon sandwiches.
We were looped during lightning storms,
pawing each other's necks, winds flapping the windows.
The police interrogated us about our looseness.
They heard children in our thoughts, screaming
under our playful tongues. We will banish you to the ocean
where your thoughts of smallness will be devoured.
We lay pleasure-doomed and sweltering, imprisoned
in a reeking hangout, watched in our tiresome craving,
fattening, vision-flat, hating the public spectacle of our privacy.

-- JW Major