The tour was short.
The town was closed.
The birds were gone
but two gulls
fighting over the last remaining pizza crust
from someone’s hungover yesterday.
“It must have been locals
that left it.
“No one sensible
would visit Cape May
in the dead of winter.”

We watched as we walked
steam obscuring vision to water.
“That’s the ocean.
“Past it lies Delaware.”
“And past that?”
“Fuck if I know.
“Belize?”

There were bed and breakfasts
everywhere,
all unavailable,
all emptied.
The world around us
was barely filled
a balloon waiting for a pump to fill it,
a pump that would not arrive,
perhaps,
until the month of the town’s name.

“Did you enjoy your stay?”
I was asked.
I sighed and the exhalation
left enough steam to blind me
to the wintry day.
“Sure.
“Let’s get moving.”