your eyes voluptuous,
the sweetness of your mouths,
of your grass-lined stomachs,
Miss Marie Beatrice
owned a fabulous beast
each May she'd capture and saddle
and drive to the Fair.
A creaking senior cyborg let me in,
greeting me with a mechanical grin.
I offered as a bribe two auxiliary knees
fashioned in nickel by the Nipponese;
Here is a man
who doubts his hand.
Though he was quick to sit down
when the game called,
Entering the cafe, I find J
crunching a molecular biscuit.
His weary girl lies under the deadly shadow of the pepperpot.
Desparately, I attempt to