When is Washington?
Washington is in a warm drink.
We take it with us when we feel the dew soaking through our socks.
It is 4 o'clock.
It is turning in the squinting sidewalk man's belly.
It is a sneeze walking past plastic trees.
It is a mustache that isn't.
It is red sweat shirt girls buying yogurt in the self-check out lane in Fred Meyer.
It is in three empty pitchers and a teary eye remembering John Keister.
Washington is my appendix.
or more accurately
Washington is late August in a dusty corolla, if she makes it.