13,233. ROUGH BEATS

ROUGH BEATS

What rough beats are come this

way, over the mannered hill? I see

shadows across the field, but no

more than that  -  chimeras wearing

coats. So I will sit amidst my cronies

and think of things to do.

-

I am that man, and that. The flannel

shirt and the tilted hat, seventy-five

years far out of date, with stubby

fingers and a longshoreman's cape.

-

My bag is hunched and bent, and

from each pore pours a tired lament.