Just don’t call him Theodore
A quick sweeping wind cascades
in from this barren landscape of
blue endless blue—a forever
I’m not ready for but two feet goes
and another warm salty breeze
A Martha’s Vineyard kind with
The Hamptons sweet pretension
Wayfarers and seersucker clad
I light a smoke and smoke tendrils
another sweeping offshore one
with lifts and flights and whimsy
shimmies her dress above her waist
where I see all kinds of fanciful fruit
which the night before I indulged
today I paint the still life with guilty
sneery mouthed, flaccid, itchy skin
one last waltz—a summertimes end
chapter with no epilogue in sight just
dénouement to say the least with tones
and tears and smoke drifts to her eyes
another sneer another smile, seersucker
whitewash picket, white cottage, white
I think of that pretty girl on that bouy
some mouthful of razor teeth and her
painted nails a crustacean smorgasbord
off distant sun like diamonds a gull breaks
a dream some childhood thing—playback
I run from and another breeze brings her
a sweet, linen crisp like white linens on lines
sweet notes of moist breath and dark rum
a leathery bite, soft, gone in dream
walking she says I should call Kate Theodore
a dream of Oolong scented passion steeped
this sweet breeze with rose hips of spring
another bite from some eyelashy serpent
you just never had a chance in the end
and Brody examines this pretty thing
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