The air is sweet,
the clouds puffed.
The breeze is mild
persistent and cool,
and the sound is funky.
You’d have liked this show.
You’d have called it relaxing.

I’m sorry
that I never took you to Brooklyn
to see such a thing.
I’m sorry
we never lay together
in the grass
beside picnic
and listened to groovy tunes
on a lazy summer afternoon.
I’m sorry
that the timing wasn’t right.

I glance through the crowd today
wondering if someone smarter
someone better
has brought you to this fine event
so you could get
what you always deserved:
a pleasant time
with a good man
or woman
or one not yet determined in place
on the spectrum of gender.

You always deserved
all of the genders.
I hope
wherever you are
that you’re having a good day
and you realize
I’m sorry
I couldn’t give that to you.