Just the Right Escape

Brubeck opens
for Miles,
private concert
with a bit of
whiskey so smooth
it has no bite.
no bite at all.
Stretched out
under blanket
on a queen-size
at the Super 8,
AC lower
than she'd ever run it
back at home
after day spent
playing in the waves
that almost took her
out to sea, they were
so strong, eating hot dogs,
finding treasure in town's
thrift stores where
she is a stranger,
scalding shower.
It gets better than this,
she thinks,
but this is good.
This is really,
really good.
Miles agrees.
She can hear it
in his sad refrain.


(c) Ellen Gillette, 2013