Garden Circle

we cruised many times around the hood b/c the sky

was the bluest we’d seen it

in probably a week

and the sun enough to get campbell capretta out there

w/ her tanning materials

which made us all laugh

before tucking our chins to our chests.


we yelled thru rolled windows

hey to the gardeners,

and nearly all of them acknowledged

w/ a wave, and a smile,

except for the one

who we must have irritated on some occasion I will not pretend to remember.


in my basement we drank something waiting in the cabinet

and acted on some typical violent guy impulses,

as in fists to flexed stomachs,

before the beach whistled into our consciousness as the most viable thing,

re what to do w/ the rest of the night,

w/ ourselves, furthering

ourselves along.


we sat in cold sand, just

the four of us, and the moon shot an alley down the water,

on the black like a line of cocaine,

but when the fire we put our strength in to building roared

finally ablaze flinging sparks,

it was literally all I could see,

had ever seen, had ever spoken and heard.