fantasy

i close mine

i see yours

keen and bourbon

deep glow big cat cool

then there is this smile

i hear dean martin

“one for my baby”

and my hat slips down a bit

tie crooked  oblivious

to the alligator bag

tacky orange couch

ten-year old wondering

certainty of gravity

i catch my breath

growl visceral

mine open wide

yours falling in

a porter excuses himself

and i feel good that he

has found forgiveness

amidst the beating

of the drums