ANNIVERSARY
She snaps open the card
table legs, flips it
upright on the new patio
all summer he’d sand set
into herringbone,
tiered edge for just
this red asterisked night.
Yet, already bricks
have begun to shift
the chairs wobble,
champagne bubbles list,
fizzing precariously
near lead crystal lips
of wedding flutes.
They drink too much,
then more trying to even
it up, then reel off to bed,
more seasick than drunk.
To Top
~
MORNINGS WERE VODKA
orange sunrise until the day she said baby,
ah, I think I want.
He kissed her hand then began
in stages to delay:
after the essay on Hemingway
was finished, any day now,
and then, when, fingers crossed,
a publisher came through,
don’t forget the lecture, not
yet written, on
the connection between the mall
and the middle ages
for the summer conference in Prague,
and of course the iron
rail for the patio he’d have to
learn black smithing
to do, his design so wrought
in calligraphy and curlicued.