the boys in the band wore blue,
as me and her and you
twirled on the dance floor
and shouted for pasta and wine and what’s more,
and what is more, is more
is more
and I began to sputter right out like flypaper flutters in air,
you didn’t say a thing and drank your coke from a cup
which was visible but not hardly there.
the back became tenser than tense and the rabbits and roosters
sat on their backs on opposite sides of a fence.
where we had a map, we motored and napped,
all the way to Alcatraz Island, yet the city of Francis loomed
like a librarian about to swoon, in the distance of vision
we ended the derision and the girls in newspapers spooned.
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