Pink clouds over the southern shoreline,
promise drizzles and rain and vog on Oahu.
A waning moon hangs fuzzily in the mist,
over the sea, a beacon, I try to catch its eye.
The whales have packed up and left,
bound for cooler polar waters.
Wheels roll town bound.
Red lights before me, white lights behind me.
Game faces illuminated by dashboard glow.