Reverie Poem by Abraham de la Torre

Yonder the floodlights exude a cheerless glow
drowned desperately by screaming football enthusiasts
they run for the ball
ignoring a confetti of dust
out of familiarity perhaps.

The theater borrows unnecessary light
the ball reaches for a 747 overhead
Dione Warwicke is muffled
someone must have cursed that fleeting fact.

The streets are deserted now
but for pyjama-clad pairs of holding hands.

I do not see the moon where the stars are
in the self-service laundries men in lungis grapple for a vacant washer
the tennis tables wait

I forgot to dog-ear my paperback
preoccupied with a two-day-old beard
I shall fondle again tonight

In the morrow
the trash collector will not know
there is a crumpled sheet of oft-rewritten rough draft
in his truck.