“Fried Fish Cafe” by Charles Simic

The evening sky is red

And so is the wine I’m drinking.

I’ll stay on right here

At the end of this long pier.

O world with your traveling horrors,

Cities burning in the distance,

Coffins piled up to the sky,

Martyrs hung like butcher’s carcasses.

Whatever your secret is, sea wind,

Whisper it in my ear and only in my ear

And then let the gulls

Spread over me their ghostly wings.