Without thinking too much about it,

prepare to go out into the city of your dreams.

Now, look up. At first they cannot see you.

Later, the adjustment will be made.

Your boyfriend sips bark tea.

The number should’ve turned up by now.

Perhaps the driving rain impedes it,

the recession. In any case there are two too many of us here.

We must double up, or die.

And that might be a practical if remote solution.

It’s not every day you get to bicycle past the ribbons

of people, watch the grand hotels

for some event thought imminent—not lost.

If ever I was going to turn up your volume—

but this isn’t about living, is it?

Or is it? I mean, many suppers in the seven modes

or grades, as many as can be made to last

once the bosses and their beagles have passed through.