Clouds so cottony like the old cotton back home.
It’s nice here, away from the rat race.
Just when I was thinking about a burqini for swimming.
Hórale, bar maid, you got mint schnapps?
No hay. Some version of a town. With a pool.
And a dim pool hall.
Restrained territorial adobe with a dash of New England.
Sliding glass doors aren’t part of history.
The click on the lock unclicks with a careful bobby pin. I feel so safe.
Good rain we had last night.
Wet her down right.
Gloria Frym was born in Brooklyn. Her recent books of poetry are The Stage Stop Motel and Mind Over Matter. She is also the author of two short story collections—Distance No Object and How I Learned. She teaches at California College of the Arts in the San Francisco Bay Area.