Ann’s Visit

Too much
August;
it must be parceled
night by night
ingested
in slippery
hours.
Outside
the theater
we find ourselves
lost,
wander
into the
first restaurant
we see.
Chandeliers,
girls in short dresses
whisper, laugh.
The confused
sneers
of waiters.
We do not belong.
Calamari
slick and
greasy.
Vague fingerprints
on cloth napkins
Relief
waits outside
where
(trees
even
smell tired now,
with sun crunched
leaves)
two
of my neighbors
are drunk
giggling,
offer
to split
a cab.