The air so thick with spring mosquitoes, graybacks,
gallinippers, specklebacks, black mosquitoes, we knew
everything would be between us. The old timers
cock their hats and pick their teeth
with splinters from the lumber yard. The porter collected
pocket watches for pay. My hair is still curly
and my eyes are still blue/Why don’t you
love me. The front of a building that’s taller
than the building. The room where we convalesced
on striped divans waving fans, not palm fronds.