Home lies that way, somewhere, through the fog,
Down a road I did not ask to be set upon
And most of whose forks were chosen for me
By others no less road-bound than I,
I - Quiet, please.
Creator at rest.
And on this Seventh Day I rest, or try.
I've drifted over Trafalgar's rotting hulls,
Seen dolphins play at the pillars of Hercules,
Been camel-ridden to the foot of Cheops
And walked the city Alexander took and named.
Storm clouds bleed and render earth to mud.
We lie inside, assaulted by the lies,
Tightly bound in gray dismality.
There came into my yard a duck,
And he and I, being both in luck,
Fertilized with a dose of aggravation,
And watered with a little touch of gall,
Her lawn has sprouted warning signs to tell
The neighbor children and passing dog walkers
I reign from a second-hand Adirondack throne,
My legs in the lap of its facing mate.
Its only other claimant, a house panther,
Lies between my pale feet, feigning sleep,
Recorded somewhere’s something like this,
“A scientist is one who knows
Nearly all of nearly nothing.
A salesman is one who knows
Great-grandmother’s Frying Pan
Thinking it mine, I seldom think it hers.