The 12 Days of Celibacy

The sea is so cold today

you could dip a ladle into water

and mix yourself a margarita on the rocks.

The lack of starfish is unsettling

as is the air’s vaulted ceiling.

Eleven sandpipers aren’t piping,

eight motel maids are on extended cigarette breaks

and the only golden rings in sight

ride the merry-go-round of your lost lovers.

At dawn, the bulldog of blind dates

slobbered kisses across your face

so now you’re driving like a bat out of hangover.

Memories stream by but the sign ahead

warns there is absolutely NO TRESPASSING.

At the last minute you gun it anyway

and crash the gates to Love’s property.

In the distance, the moon hangs luminous

in a night strung with fiery, tangled lights.