The air of downtown
hung on us
like chains,
heavy as Marley's sins.
She sat in a chair
by an open window,
her tanned legs crossed
at the ankles,
and hanging out
over a Chester Street sidewalk,
across from a pizza and beer joint
where I read poetry
once a month.
I still had on
yesterdays clothes
and my beers
would get warm
while I watched her
eating frozen grapes.
Just a couple of blocks away
was an Architectural firm,
and the upstairs landing
outside its back door,
where I used to lay my head.
A couple more past that,
the Salvation Army and
a small crowd of invisibles
waiting for dying day's
last meal.
What are you doing tonight baby?
And I look at her
through the bottom
of a jar like my
mother used
to put up
vegetables from the garden.
I need to write.
She smiles like
an eight year old
who has
managed to trick
the
tooth fairy for an
extra dime,
When it cools down some
we can get naked and take a nap.
In the tiny kitchen
I reach and open
the refrigerator
without standing,
and pour another
beer
into the Mason jar,
Sure, baby, sure
and I cannot wait
for another sunset.
