And then at ten-thirty the scratched-up Water Music
Began to skip and at the red three truck-bed Mexicans
Sucked blue Gatorades and turned to stare.
Handel was one of those blunt gestures we tried back then
To seem like adults or aliens from a more interesting planet,
To make the sand on Sixteenth seem like a clue in a dream,
Where the Chinese mothers on Segways smiled,
Your hair is that of the recently electroshocked woman
Who lives next door and watches television in her gowns.
Men came on Christmas and left Bud Light on the AC unit
And in the morning the screen door was still open
And she sat there still watching the no-signal blue