Translucent

Some late & early morning
fog on stilts & the
backstage pinwheel orchestra
pounding out the 445th chorus
of Heartbreaker
& if you consider how life here has
become like a polished chrome
quaalude at the bottom of a swimming pool
then you’d hike your skirt up for me
when the sun drops like a shot bird
pulling the mist over your eyes
which are still the color of bourbon
in a shot glass
held up to the very last ray
of pale gold sunlight