Fine Old Moments

       With your boots on,
plumbing in thesauruses,
       tapped, surveilled?
              You might
              as well
on some high’s cusp lie
monitored and watching
       Mork and Mindy.
 
       Six for dinner,
three reds down, chewing on
       your Henry James?
              You might
              as well
come tiresome back a haunt
of five regrets: I wish I’d
       never been.
 
       Only the trees,
dancing birdlike, birds like
       cherubs hocketing?
              You might
              as well.
A gasp for half-a-minute’s
silence, the world is healed
       afterwards.
 
       But ask yourself
beneath cavorting life, will
       no one rid me of?
              You might
              as well,
oh hero, hurry through
the diorama’s feathers,
       twigs and glue.