parody


            Thou found’st me poor at first, and keep’st me so.—Goldsmith



my darling and my friend
writes so and yet
so

meet me in an hour neigh
I am with thee
in spirit

well I can walk ye round
the block about
for the pincushions you call yet
doubt

and see the manciples yawning
at their task
rising very early

and the street dunces
finally gaining access of sleep

and all that rout
from one end to another all
but waking daylong nightsome
stilly

and you would not have a stay
to your bosom
nor lollipop to mangle
at your feasts

and wind the clock down slow
‘twill never keep time so

hence away upon it cry
I knew not ye wherefore lie?

come Stentor in cuirass
and a fellow in the State
cry Mulrooney down the street
as Carthage as impetigo

lest his trade be seen in
poetic commodities and he
a tainted surly reprobate in art
cease from spotless poverty at heart

I shall write a letter to the editor
the better still to write me off a creditor

give me t’other Noll who pleasant says
that tohu-bohu starts things off Oyez