INCAPACITY TO WAIT
This city is a storybook rhyme; old paste
and a pop-up view. The yellow cabs now
fight for space with things that never were
before. Uber Alles, and all the rest. The man
in the coonskin hat, the other guy throwing
apple seeds, neither and nor, hither and yon.
The home run I hit went over that wall - it
traveled high for fourteen days. This city
just takes my heart.
Here is the master's house: the tea-spout,
the edger, the first memory of song :
I'm a little tea pot, shirt and stout.
Tip me over and pour me out.