The Ambassador is leaving
and with him
voice of reason.
Who will stop
the tourist
from falling into
gaps and grapes?
There will be exchange
of platitudes
some sacrosanct cliche
and a bottle tipped
toward ceiling fan
in the name of work undone.
A few months back
they found a corpse
by the tracks a mile south--
twenty-five with no regrets
'cept for unread stacks of books.
One can hear the snap
crisp and clean
like a glass rod
used for stirring highballs
or a more formal concoction.
Most choose to ignore it.
I was lucky.
Mine would knock.
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