953. IF

IF

If I can be made to be what I am

I'll be happy alone on this porch.

The red-wing blackbird at the Jimson

Weed - one equation together forever.

A life such as this would a prime number

be. I'd not need dancing or dining nor doubt

and decay. All your idle chitchat, I'd so

let you say. Your postcard from the

Poconos is there, on the floor.

-

I don't want the matter, but neither

does it matter what I want. Somehow, this

first day of Summer has no meaning at all.

A loudspeaker on the wall proclaims :

'Joltin' Joe has left and gone away.'

I almost no longer wish to listen. If

I can be made to be what I 'be',

I'll be happy alone on this porch.