It's National Poetry Month! Let's warm up with yet another poem by James Tate.


She was able to steal two glass automobiles
for salt and pepper from the cafe in Saint Paul.
A bee had gotten into her shoe and she kissed the cook
before leaping.

The lamps, like a necklace across the Bay of Angels.
The champagne, lukewarm. A man swaggered by,
then stopped and spoke: "I witnessed your high jinks back there,
passing on your lonliness to the community
and the distance."

"Yes," said the woman, Jozan, "and you are the one.
You are that man. That night I walked through hell."