Bald Mountain

I was at the Pebble Beach Concours de Elegance
and my mind was blown
by the private reserve upon
which so few lived
in the hills outside of Monterey

the perfect grass and the perfect jug band
were perfectly positioned
near the symetrical splay of Hors d'oeuvre
in the aromatic nestle of some valley
with little shrubs like those on my
uncle's train set diorama

A heart felt hello to my father's gay friends
from far away lands
and as they sized me up
I shifted the subject of conversation
from that of prowess
to that of progeny, progress
and the man's Peking to Paris adventure
in a 1938 something or other

and I wandered off to the third coffee
of the evening
and my mind wandered off to a darkened Broadway
where I held her hand but it wasn't quite right

and then my thoughts turned to my
new love
the round-faced girl whose eyes
are cool pools of aquamarine
flanked by the fairest, milkiest skin

and I made a noise that I thought
a baby dinosaur might make
and I smiled