By Martin Bemberg

After a hard day’s ecstasy the legs are the first to weaken
Under the weight of the recently Belgian bicyclical Amber Ale.
We rid ourselves of town this weekend, merged lightly out of bounds
And into being soaked by and into being topped by sun.

So far spring has been a string of shoe-ins.
(As you’ll recall we drove along and past
The reaches of recent ruins.)

You recall the time we accidentally trespassed
Taking photos of some through fish eye lensing.
I took, I shook his hand, the owner’s, said my sorries.
(Now that’s the stuff of cleansing.)

At the acme of our Arkansas I groveled east.
I faced my palms to Mecca and knew in Heart
And other places
That Mohammed was mistaken when he taught
Our graces must be parts of some regime.
It seems those too were thoughts of yours exactly
And I smiled as you lit my cigarette
And eventually took your ten percent.
(Yes, this is how it went).

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