We sit together,
On old chairs with cracked legs
And upholstery of a dated pattern.
My hands:
blackened at the fingertips
nails in ruins
calloused.
it appears that my guitar is the victor of this battle.
The dining room is a mess-
textbooks strewn about, proclaiming that
a change in buyer preferences will
cause a shift in demand
and that
the Amarna Period reflected
a number of stylistic changes
and the clock on the oven says it's nearly midnight.
Retire with me to the front porch.
Sit down in a white rocking chair
with green-and-brown striped cushions
And feel the cool, clean mist on your cheeks
As the rain comes pouring forth
From the opened mouth of Tlaloc,
And we will sing, and laugh, and cry
Until it is quite late indeed
And we become
dizzy,
giddy,
wobbly-minded
And fall gratefully into bed.