Feb. 16, 2012- Balmoral
There are nights when the trees
Drip moonlight I am told;
I have not seen them.
You need to be armed with patience.
You need silence as a companion
In the mid-morning hours,
And hot coffee, perhaps a cigarette,
Not a babble of “do you haves”
And “gimmees” that pepper the air
On this island of emotional miscreants,
Thugs anonymous, wannabe slicks.