Night Out

Screams rattle the amphitheater
of lost dreams. A horror film
in progress nears its end.
I’m restless; aren’t you,
without your bouffant hairdo?
Swarms of bumblebees
fill the high grass by the ocean.
I was mere boy with a scythe
cutting into their playground
by a river irrigating the valley,
a place to grow and even die
if you surrendered your future,
married and raised children.
I did not want to die, he said.
You will die anyway, he heard.
Too young to say, Not here,
he left town. Then many towns.
Cities too. Then hummingbirds
drank the cup of his long life.
They were the brilliant,
the beautiful he needed.
Did they need him? How did
he know? He was there early.
The crowd was just entering.
He knew a good movie when
he saw one directed by you.
I always preferred the dark.
We stayed too late to sleep.
So we made what’s called love.
Living was all there was to do.

(21 May 2013)

copyright 2013 by Floyce Alexander