post it

I should straighten up the house

feather dust the knick-knacks

empty the hamper into the basement sink,

suds it up and wash them out.

I don’t want my biographers

to draw negative conclusions

relative to my tidiness.

I should cull the field of poems

to a manicured lot;

have them work for me for a change,

have them write my story.

they'd be gods! they'd be almighty!

so they'd lie a little here and there.

in the meantime let’s have another cup,

shall we?––