Incidental III

We looked toward the woman

And my face burned red, blushing

When she asked me the questions

Are you ever alone?

Are you younger or older?

I held her close

In my thoughts some way wanting

In spite of the sorrow

My tensing in terror

On the strip of Ventura

With the tin barrels burning under a halo of moonlight

When the hour was lonely

It was the way that she touched me

Her arm on the window

And the way she said "baby"

And the way she said "baby"