summer margaritas

from the small slab

of the apartment

patio,

we'd listen to the harness races

going on

at the track,

just through the woods,

down

the stone path.

we could see

the broad

bloom of high lights

across the way

and hear the call

of each race.

we could hear the stamping

of the hooves,

the roar of the crowd

in joy

or disappointment.

we're we in love,

not really, but

i wonder if she remembers

those summer

nights, in our cheap lawn

chairs,

the tiki lights lit

to keep away

the bugs,

margaritas in hand,

while we listened

to Jimmy Buffett

sing

his songs on the turn table

inside.