Stargazers and sparkling wine

In the disused ferry shelter
fashioned like a wayside shrine,
somebody has left a champagne flute
beside an empty flask
whose contents were a cheap
pink sparkling wine.

Her companion opted
for a Mexican Corona beer.
Their empty bottles and the glass
improvise an epilogue.

Last night they sat talking here,
gazing at the champagne stars
tremulously waving through the tulle
cloud's drifting scarves,
as far beyond their pockets
as a magnum of Dom Perignon.

This evening an aged couple stands
and contemplates the rose-lensed river -
proof that sometimes marriages survive.
But all my thoughts are with the girl
who drained the single slender glass,
the boy's exotic draught raised   
to the coruscating skies…


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