The title sets the scene: it's March in Vermont, and the speaker is stuck there, unable to write. The poem imagines the Muse, the spirit of inspiration, as someone who has abandoned her for warmer places. The Muse, the speaker guesses, must be in Miami, enjoying a life full of color, noise, and appetite.
The details are sensory and a little cheeky: strong sweet coffee, a rat darting across the sidewalk, mothers scolding, a plump woman sunbathing topless. Then the poem turns to evening and the Muse is courted by three attentive waiters, who offer cheese, wine, and dessert made "just for her." They touch her hand and promise to count the moments until she returns.
The mood is wistful and playfully envious. The speaker never says she feels left behind, but the contrast between the lively, flirtatious south and the unspoken cold of Vermont says it for her. The last lines also sting a little: someone else is being begged to come back, while the speaker waits.