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Boston: New Year

I'm nearsighted
near the Almadovar
two guys wander out
of the all-night movie,
I'm feeling campy
wanting to see the harbor lights
or Rita Hayworth.

I'm glued on the Spanish
wishing for someone to love
even sober Boston aches tonight
wanting high heels
the air to redden us
or to have a hero
move out of the darkroom.

I smell pot
pouring down
a rotisserie of adolescence
mushrooms around me
as I leave the theatre…
unconfined, etherized
yet wishing to be a year younger
entering another January
hoping for a massage
or at least a phone message
from my first love.

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