Tuesday, December 8, 2015
A Dollar, A Dolor
The Mid-Level Donor
Which one is the thieves' table?
I hear there is where honor passes,
Serene as I myself might be, given
The proper medication, head high,
An angel in the house. Might I find
A place, a welcome here, next to
The electric cable snaking through
The cracked-open window? No? I didn't realize.
My place card misplaced. I'll take
My station at the edges and contemplate
With a careful smile what you've prepared:
The annual installment of longing spread
Beneath the tree. All toys must be wrapped.
All toys must be clearly labeled: Girl seven-dash-nine,
Boy five-dash-seven. All toys must be unopened.
Image: I just fucking love The Knick. It's the show of my dreams.