I make no excuses for my Muse who resides
in Zodiac’s centrifugal eye. She spies on me
through fog-shrouded shadows at night.

My Muse on leave from her usual station
beside Santa Rosalia, guardian of Monterey.

She waits tables at the waterfront nightclub
at a spot where I’m often asked to snap photos
on iPhones for tourists from faraway lands.

My Muse has a special talent for delighting
customers who circumnavigate the place,
and is envied by many who amplify her cheer
as they quaff frosty glasses of imported beer.