We were surrounded by buttercup and phlox
so you know what the month was, one of us had
Sarah Vaughn in her inner ear, one of us
Monk, who put a table there we didn't
know but we were more or less grateful nor was it
even chained to anything and the eggs we
ate were perfect, I cracked them on my head
as I always do and shattered them with my fist,
the grape tomatoes which only cost a dollar
a pint were almost acid-free, the tire
was growing softer but I was a veteran
of real tires, and bumper jacks, I even went
back to steaming radiators, I could
tell you things, I said to Monk, I walked
two miles once with a half-gallon of gas
leaking out of an orange juice carton, "In My
Solitude" he said, "September Song," said she.