On the brick patio he built outside 
my bedroom window, the men stood, bottle
of beer in one hand, cigarette in the other
talking about the game, the play they made
the pitch they missed. I remember how night 
settled in, shifting to deeper blues and shadow
patterns of light playing on my walls; sailing ships 
and long necked dinosaurs chased by clouds 
and the voices of men, the laughter of men 
filled my dreams.  

The smoke of his Marlboro lofted 
through my window.  

In the morning I counted the empties in the case, 
found the missing beer bottles stranded 
in the ferns and peonies, some 
with an inch of beer still in them.  I lifted 
each bottle to my lips, pretended I was him, 
and finished them.  Every bottle cap I found
I put in my pocket, pie plates and golden 
crowns for my dolls. 


© 2006 by Julia Klatt Singer. All rights reserved.