Stormy-eyed on the edge of dawn:
nose pressed against the triple glaze.
Floor to ceiling, wall to wall,
silent traffic streams both ways.
Along the fussy freeway drivers
dream of sunday barbecues.
Of a sudden, seems I can barely
face my self: no face to lose.
Call the bosses. Call supervisors.
Won`t be in today to work for you.
E-mail that girl who`s working nights.
She can dress down for this wind and rain.
Leave her new korean compact:
let some cabbie take the strain.
Take a shower. Take big espresso.
Take to the hills, and take a view.
Little black dress stretching over
hard crystal peaks: soft valleys too.
Call the bosses. Call for nurses.
Unfit today to work for you.
No wet excuses. Absent without leave.
I`ll be her dayshift driver: exotic engineer.
Stormy-eyed on the edge of night:
(December, eastern time: late afternoon.)
Atlantic City tight behind.
Trump Casina calls pontoon.
Gristle-burger, frazzled fries
end this romantic interlude.
Tomorrow morning`s sweet awakening
could hardly prove to be as rude.
Make the journey. Make amends.
Work some hasty overtime in lieu.