-I picked-up the Robert Graves-

I pulled “The Last Night Of The Earth Poems”

From the shelf and as it was sliding out

The "Collected Poems of Robert Graves"

Standing next to it fell to the floor.

So I pushed Bukowski back in,

Picked-up the long troublesome Graves

And carried it downstairs for another try.

I sat down on the fat, leatherette "La-Z-boy" 

In the living room and began reading

"The Collected Poems of Robert Graves".

Well, some of them,–– fanning, stopping,

Reading, fanning, stopping, reading,

But not becoming fully engaged.
Mea culpa. Mea culpa.

Mea maxima culpa.
Behind me, the post-supper
XM Radio left-wing bloviators  propagandists

Are pulling their hair out over Obama

As right-wing propagandists pant

For the return to the days of that solitary tree

Waiting in the moonlit meadow on the outskirts of town...

Upstairs, and the illusive Graves

Is slipped back into the slot from whence it dropped.

"The Last Night Of The Earth Poems" 
Is pulled and carried downstairs to the fat "La-Z-boy"
Where my jitterbugging with Bukowski begins.