You used to imitate a camel
eating—nostrils flared, your dogged
sawing left and right. It was easy
to love you then.
I'd start coq au vin
on the poky two-burner,
James Beard propped open with a pot.
That time we dialed Pan Am and danced
to their "Please Hold" fox trot, Mulligan's
honey-slow horn, remember?
the telephone pressed between us. . . .
We'd drowse off at midnight, a muddle
of arms and legs
till your cock-crow under the covers
awakened us both.
And then there was morning. I'd steal
one last-minute dream
and open my eyes to a blur
of Burma Shave
in the bathroom doorway, a fizz of sunrise
you wiped away, then
two-stepped toward me.