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This poem is taken from PN Review 134, Volume 26 Number 6, July - August 2000.

The Drug of Choice Christoper Cahill

I'm waiting, while the preferable girls blade by
            tranced in a kind of grounded flight
With their legs asweep like a grass skirt swaying
            and some others walking home in heels
Give the mind an item to dream on a moment,
            if only a curl of hair lifted
From its own liquid motion by what breeze there is.
            Thanks, I'll take it. And anything else?
The sun begins its initial descent somewhere over distant Newark Airport,
            one hot star burning to expend the others
Coming out like children now to peer down from the sky's stairhead
            and I'm waiting to turn
My back on it all and ride off eastward in my brother's red Porsche
            with the top down and the looks
Of deference and envy from our fellow motorists who mean no ill
            but would be pleased to see us waiting on the side
...


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