I put a tip in her jar,
watch the TV over her shoulder,
Or pretend to.
Beauty is a bad thing
to bestow
on this broken planet.
I forgot to say when it was summer
the apocryphal migration had
already started
with sacrifice.
I forgot to say when summer was over
I too measured my leaving
in brunettes and broken bottles.
So many folks
will never know my name,
because I am a moldy eagle,
full proved but not feeling it.