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Poem: Old Bay

Her lips taste like old bay
An undefined blend of spices
That is a perfect compliment
To the Natty Boh on my lips
When I’m kissing her 
In the stands while the O’s play
Even though we’ve been fans
For long enough to know 
This isn’t their year again
We probably should’ve head
Out for the eastern shore
Where we could laugh
As the bright red tourist
And kids who haven’t figured out
That they have limits
While we stroll arm in arm
Along the boardwalk
Until long shadows
From the Ferris wheel blanket us
Calling us back across the Chesapeake
Chasing the sun to the west
Beyond Virginia where we won’t go
Stopping at the DC border
Watching night rise from the Potomac
Under the stars of our ancestors
Looking down on us burning
Wisps of tobacco smoke
Chewing on saltwater taffy
And dreaming of blue crabs

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