Late night eating Mexican, drinking imported beer,
the sun goes down over the brick patio
and we are left with the darkness, the first of the warm

spring and the daffodils that line the sidewalk.
People with their children have long and silent
conversations with their plates as the children

look up and out to the expanse of sky as it represents
freedom for everyone. Freedom is an impossible
concept but it is one I will love nonetheless:

the high school kids beside us drinking underage
and the muffled roar of a train in the distance
behind the hardware store just up the road.

On the streets, sidewalks. On the sidewalks, people
out walking with their dogs on the leash,
with their small bags of groceries, with their tortillas,

with their wine and with their story of something
in the future that tastes just right—a small hot pepper cut
and thrown in at the end, because life sometimes hurts like that.

The morning paper, and my neck is fucked
from sleeping wrong. I can’t get this crossword
right. 29 Down: ___________ of the old blanked
blankety-blank. Late last night the stars heard
this rumor from this planet about how
things would shake down today. It goes like this:
If you want change, there is no time like now.
I don’t know what I want. Some eggs. A kiss
from the woman in the other room. Health.
I am sick. Not well. But it is spring and
so thank you for the flowers. A word with
four letters, beginning with “L.” A wand
I can wave around to make the answers
appear: last, lost, long, love—yeah, that one, sure.