quietus

so Swift, that other shoe drop
my becoming anachronistic
as that opening line

as yesterday’s wear and tear
fashions threadbare the naked
truth of the second stroke(?)

or an endmost cosmic joke
a tee-hee of maybe baby, right damn now!
Or the cynical chortle of corporeal jest
while saving the best last laugh for a 3 a.m.
and thirty below, three feet of snow,
end of the show

So fitting for this expat southern boy


Plain Plan

grace is practiced punctuality
resonant within rhyme of
caprice in the ad hoc release
of that damned tick-tocked
takeaway of this mortal coil

grace is on time but never
on the nose as that smells
of dictum in a social calendar,
When- trumping what, where,
and who-

knew that seconds are your Master,
and you miser minutes, hussy hours ,
procure a particular moment like the
prisoner stamping license plates to
relegate cadence to a signature

grace corrals to control but rolls with
pin ball paradox of duration and extent,
content to contain the scale, but happy
to sit a spell, and let the span stretch

***

says this old man with too much too little time on his hands

***