The night was written
I was late to arrive
And there were so many people
Not much air to share
Breathing in each
Others self consciousness
I found the poet
I envy
but respect, he
Has his gears oiled
I find the first ATM
Ever constructed and get
Whiskey, and then more
In the crowd of friends
And fools
I touch
A greeting
My favorite ginger
hugs me while
Ordering a drink
She is not the mess
She was
They call out numbers and
The readings are impossible
To hear, but I put on
My interested face
I smile as poets and
Essayist's wax romantic
Screaming to be heard
Above the crowd
Captain suit coat was
Missing, but queen
Of the spectacles was
All the voice that was needed
She soothed
Like the poet I envy in song
I speak to those
I will never know
Never laugh with
There is a man who asks
About the Victorians
And I bitch about Tennyson
And old man Fischer
I feel old here
But I am not
I feel the white noise
Of people loving youth
And possibility
But I do not touch it
I know you all
I know you all
I love you all
Home is waiting
Home is waiting
