Oakland

Oakland The night at the card house I remember having a soundtrack Part carnival, part cannon. How we stopped for barbeque and gas Contemplating poolhalls While across the bay the kids We weren’t a part of, weren’t a part of us. That night we were the only white folk Except the girls on those guys’ arms Who didn’t even nod, though we won Our money as reversibly as anyone. Funny to think: the mission you were on Not to be a fool. I told them we were Russian. It’s too easy to be sentimental. Give me something harder A wishbone on the windowsill to dry A jar with a heavy lid It’s all perfect, you said, all of it. And fuck her then. Give me a pair of hearts.

New York City 25 June 2005