Youth warns no one when it leaves the party.
It does not thank the hostess, then air kiss,
Then wave, hailing the hot night’s last taxi.
Youth offers no one a ride home in this
Weather, still humid and still summery,
But the wind threatens to end with a hiss
All the sunshine promises, the hearty
Picnic dates made only that we might miss
Them. The street lamp has gone all sputtery.
Soon, it will dawn a work day, and the bliss
Of second and third chances—history!
The grapes are crushed; the wine has turned to piss.
The hangover stumbles in like laity
Late for the sermon on eternity.