the lights were off, yet
they kept talking, talking
that poetry stuff.
it was a two- broom night.
we swept them down the steps,
into the summer dark, where
they gaggled in the parking lot
hugged the ancient trees
rhapsodized about the night .
neighbors, roused from sleep,
hung out of their windows
to ogle these nocturnal pests,
and when the cops showed up,
George whipped out his press pass,
stuck it into his hatband
and guaranteed to the police
that this would make the news .