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On A Bedsheet In The Breeze On The Roof

de Joan Of Arc

The apartment got too crowded.
Everyone was sticky and peeling apart squeezing through each other so we all lined up quick to help each other stumble drunk up a ladder.
The whole party climbed onto the roof.

And when the roof got too small some of us climbed the bridge across the street.
And from there we could see the students showing each other their films on a bedsheet in the breeze on the roof.
And the lights spread out around us like a wheat field.

A lot of the boys shouted out a commentary and some of the girls did too.
It didn't bother me and I like the films.
We all thought it was great when a silly art student Hitler had to change a flat tire on that bedsheet in the breeze on the roof.
And the lights spread out around us like a wheat field.

I laid flat on my stomach on a beam.
I looked straight down through a hole.
It seemed so much higher from above than below.
I felt my friends dance around me.
I spun happy with my eyes closed.
I let my weight alone hold me.
And though I already knew I'd be ashamed by the time it was over, I was so happy just waiting to tell my story and I knew no other way down.

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