May Day In Oregon

We stumbled out of the professor's house drunk and dazed Cackling in that conspicuous way about something his wife had said. The outdoor air was tight and crisp in contrast with The kitchened cat-haired aura of the professor's home and my companions' eyes glinted in the reflection of slick streets and sweaty moon. New flares of laughter and I turned back to see the most beautiful girl Sprawled face-up on the sidewalk, Her lilac tutu once gaudy now rendered lyrical when placed on misty cement. She rose and we trudged onwards, shattering the suburban night With shouts about Boston, hidden summertimes, and pending separations. The most beautiful girl shone unaware of sticky leaves clinging to her tutu But I said nothing, for tomorrow would bring blinding desert and crushed-leaf memories And I needed to save words (and leaves) on this last night of being broken with strangers Like this most beautiful tutued girl Who saved me far more than any other had dared under this indifferent moon.