ayaladn

while I was

whistlin’

Waterloo

at Srinagar,

a crowd within

a congerie

made mockery —

what was I to do —

yes, twigs to choose

& further stones

to sit upon, but,

will they stay put…

‘a glimpse of stocking’

this side of those,

everything glows —

‘tho I’m not sick yet,

nor even thickset,

shall I quickstep

over holes

or on the poles —

& if your rockets

are bottl’d (O stop it)

‘I suppose,

but what are those’ —

unpaid tickets,

designer lipstick,

& ‘morrows’ pick –Yes,

I’d tip-toe,

if I had those

here, we all agree,

it isn’t easy so, to

pack a pair o’ stilts

on a burro’er the plains,

unless you leaf a parasol

at Hannibal Crossing

& all that power’d horn —

what to do — I’ll center so

& cartwheel city walls

on bargain days asleep,

& overrun them looking

for corundum on the beach,

there, a proper post

for goods & such

as mind the bearers of —

once, on Butler Ridge,

the tense pegs horizontal —

he’s glued

himself

to the floor —

I would use

a crowbar

but the neighbor

won’t return it,

only broken

glass, to chip at

by moonlight;

nonetheless,

I’m careful

near his tongue,

& he’s barefoot —

who knew he

had twelve toes;

now he’s good

lying where

the ceiling

was the floor,

I was told

we were there,

although I

was alone —

as strange

no dust collect

the lintel-

would-be stoop

made to stop

a flood —

the boy

above the floor,

I never

heard him walk