Days of 1948

from Commotion of the Birds (2016)

        Friends of the deceased pole-vault toward us.
	That’s creepy.  Not to be infiltrated, his pastures
	stretch to the moon, the old place.  Besides which
	he kept telling us how nice we were, and that
	was something.  Was it in the old house
	on the wires?  Thanksgiving earlier,
	with all the folks you’ve loved for years,
	vagabond days, nights of mystery?
	Yes boys, that’s where my money goes.
Do you solemnly participate now,
	where the tide is?  Boink I love you.
	Is that what you heard about him
	that lets you distinguish between us
	in the old opera house,
	and you wake up screaming “Arriba!”