AUTOCRATIC JONES,
THE RINGLEADER
I didn't come for you I came for your
older sister - the one with the rose-petal
hair and the elevator shoes. Dial-eyed
wingtip, flutter-heart, bread-baking,
stewardess of everything good.
-
How's that for flattery? If five will
get you ten, what can this bring me
home? Outside the Red-Room Cafe,
two tables in the suddenly balmy air
held talkers who ate while they sat.
A warm day at riverside, ah yes, there's
nothing like that at all - watching the
new Winter babies on their first outing
in new strollers, while the new mothers
yet insist the old yoga pants fit. Ah,
to be in Lulumon again!
-
I've got nothing against Indian braves:
I know they still lurk - those Muncey
tribes of Lenape - and stare back; from
the waterfronts they lost, where their
passing villages would stop. Lean-to
and teepee, together, while fishing on
the banks of the Delaware or Raritan.
Oh boy, Tonto, those long days are
distant and gone. You might as well
forget all that now. They've got
guns in their memories, while
you've got none.
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