I Saw You... The Girl at Altitude

Cold night on the rooftop bar you hold your arms and shiver
so thin and pretty while I stand comfortably
by the fire pit at twenty-second floor altitude, the cold
rooftop tequila and city lights spinning beats, the deejay
of the moment. One couple slouched together in a chair,
she on his lap his arms holding her under
the bar’s blanket.

I invite you into my spot, my warm privileged place.
So beautiful but then talking you come to dirty water -
and the world too crowded anyway but I’m five tequila-rocks
drunk, talkative and flirty and I can’t tell you
I hate what you said - can't make myself
walk away but I see small black
children drinking gray water bug-flecked and warm.
You don’t have children surely and barely
any conscience but my god you’re beautiful, texting
until I say enough interesting things
or your co-texter goes offline to find someone
who doesn’t hate the world.

We spread ourselves around -
open a fire-space for the cold welder
who wants to be a cartoonist
and together we take turns reporting
on the couple on the chair, their progress -
their round movements
her eyes shut mouth open,
his head down
kissing
her neck.

I form my fingers into a gun and hold it
to the welder’s head.
“What do you want to do with your life?”
“I I I I I… I wanna draw!”
I give him two weeks to start on his dream.

Your friends ready to leave
give you a ten-minute warning.
I don’t want to ask your number -
don't want to be another person you text
waiting for your next text.
I sip my tequila, you your wine, the welder his beer.
We admire more openly the couple making love
under the blanket oblivious to dramas, prejudices,
life ambitions evolving by the fire.

Your friends take you away - you leave
behind the smell of beauty,
the couple now quiet and still,
engaged with each other
to an almost infinite degree.