January 24, 1973. I wrote this in San Francisco, when I must have been longing for a new season: So what’s new?
The sun shines off happy tummies, Lying motionless in the field Like the empty watermelon hulls.
Deep in the scene of viny crime Rest sticky fingers, And far-off smiles,
While off near the edge of the field, A fence chases its tail, And looks the other way.