the new Pinsky

the new Pinsky arrives and all hell breaks loose.

my beauties form a tough horizontal line

elbowing their way for prime positions.–– once gained,

they don’t give-up without a fight.

if not for culling the line, the lamp at the table's edge,

like an ancient mariner, will drop to the maws of serpents and dragons.

last month a bruised and bloodied Plath, "The Collected Poems"

lost her place, and days later, Neruda's "20 Love Poems

and A Song Of Despair," left its slip of kisses and heartache

after years in good standing to a newcomer promising rejuvenation.

my beauties form a time-tested row, and not unlike the long-legged

Vegas showgirls, the closer you approach, the more time-tested they appear.

yes, my beauties !––  they too, have been around the block.

call me taskmaster, god of triage, a real cracker. my loves have work to do.

they come to me with the weight of the world exposing their spines

to eat me alive, and I love them all the more for it.

so, Mr. Pinsky, you outrageous smartypants, welcome to the line,

the backbone of my residence, and instigators of my craft, and

...watch y'r back.