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TYCOOFF

The summer night is behind my left shoulder.
Laughter comes up through the floorboards
But it isn't mine for the taking, so I look on the shelves.
Who am I telling this to. The summer night.
Cluttered with the sound and smell of the bakery,
The votive synthesizer pregnancy test
Not referring to anything. Once every word
Shone in starlight, in moonlight. It is orange,
The night huddles around its hood. I mean
Rough concrete with stones bumping out of it,
And an outdoor concert under a tent by the river.
Now the words are matte varnished, printed on
Eighty pound natural. The sky holds stones
For a second, then the contrails leave afterimages.