Proximate Causes The bright, whitewashed gables The cozy brick facades The square was full of folding tables, Kids sloganeering and harrowing frauds. He’d been riverside reading About oil in Ecuador She was stationed by the pipe store, pleading For U.S. aid in the Sudanese war. She said, “They’re raiding food trucks in Bahr-el-Ghazal.” He said, “Weren’t you in my Spanish class last fall?” He bought her a cappuccino She gave him a sheet of facts And as he left, he asked if she’d go To Tuesday’s talk on petroleum tax. They met up in the foyer. They tried out each other’s names. He was better dressed, and she was coyer, But both felt inspired by the speaker’s claims. He said, “I’ve asked some friends to my parents’ summer place. They’re away this week, and it shouldn’t go to waste.” Sun On small-town steeples flickering through the trees Sun On tide pool cattails twitching in the breeze Sun Across the dashboard and on her bare, brown knees A swim To wash away that film of city grime The lawn: Touch football and croquet for those inclined A driftwood bonfire cookout along the waterline And with the last few dishes on the drying rack And as the last, loud carload pulls away He says, “I guess that we had better get you back.” She says, “I guess. Or…maybe I could stay?” He left her sleeping in bed And took the paper out to the pool. Thirteen Sudanese children dead ‘Cause they’d been sent to a Catholic school.