Once Over South Beach

Do you remember slam! that orange moon

Just blazing big against the South Beach sky?

We idled by those bumpy stuccoed walls,

Still warm—in melon, pink, chartreuse. And I,

I said, “The moonlight slips right through the bars,

For trysts in gardens when a lover comes.”

Insistent sambas, smells of rum, made night

As musky as perfume the dancing warms.

We followed sounds of crazy, happy Cuban

Carcajada, right up an outdoor stair

To where that moon punched pow! into that blue:

You with shoulders silvery and soft and bare.

Across the table, I fidgeted and grinned:

At you? Those Cuban babes? Quien sabe?

And you just said: “Oh God, it's getting late,”

And our last moon, bam! was gone, gone away.

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