MY FAVORS ARE
ALL DRAWN IN
Ideally, the horse escapes the landscape,
the ogre breaks out of his cages. No one ever
dies. Violence does not exist. Ideally, as well,
I am always correct and my acres of money can
save my fellow beings. I ladle out love like
medicine. I stretch forth a candied hand to all
the world's sweet-tooth'd people.
The reality, however, being different, causes
me to cringe. I see a 50-year old poem and have
to laugh, as new. That sun, sill lifting the branches
of those oaks. My, my, and what a joke : the
marveled, spitfire world exults, while I huddle.
frightened, beneath some heavy elephant quilt.
My favors are all drawn in. Everything I ever
owned is mortgaged now to the finish. I have
lost my shirt, and my Panama hat as well.
Lord Byron, come get me, please.