Upon a BBQ Heading Into Night

You, me, this guy, we’re talking about the weather,
How it’s warmer once the fog comes in.
And Upper Haight is beyond the fogline.

He mans the barbecue, says:
“The guy before wasn’t doing it right.
It’s about keeping the lid on, then removing it,
Giving the meat lots of oxygen.”

I pour the cheap wine we brought,
I’m eating hot veggie kabobs:
the cherry tomatoes burst and scald.

Another friend hasn’t seen the apartment,
so we climb up three flights of wooden stairs.
Miles away, to the West,
We see some orange down near the horizon,
I say it must be the ocean

She’s telling a story about Burning Man,
Everyone’s faces get darker,
As the last traces of alpenglow leave.

Her story’s about getting high,
and it’s still interesting.

It’s too early to earn a hangover,
We’re not drunk enough to be numb,
but, It’s too cold to get drunk

Everything is now black, except
The red lights of Sutro Tower,
The fog racing through the cypress,
The moon growing bright over Parnassus.