Something Glorious (for Rachel Vanderweit)
We are very jealous
of the rusted oil drum barbecue pit
on the stoop across the street from us.
Particularly in the summertime,
with the leaves a-quiver
with the loud, loud music,
and every window open
in Brooklyn, my roommate Lucas
and I sit in our second-floor apartment
like two hungry cats in a cartoon,
all sharp teeth and drool.
Maybe if we could hide our incisors
they’d invite us over with a wave,
but we like the way the sun flickers
off all of this big yellow ivory.