The salamander's thickness makes it seem
more interested in the festivities
than is possible. And two women scream
when it slides into frame with its slimed ease:
An amphibian, yes, in a new world
of saltless seas of ice and of bottles,
it adjusts to the breeze, as the die's hurled
that spells out its fate, which the air throttles:
I was in the same place, chilling alone
amidst the perfunctorily posture,
uninterested in disturbing the drone
that rippled without me in its moisture:
I took up a book, as the lizard hid,
and we both knew our fate lay off the grid.
urbansonnets 