I saw my name in print the other day
with 1932 and then a blank
and knew that even now some grassy bank

That summer the sand rusted,
The twigs cracked more easily. A worker was sent for
To carry away broken pipes and in their place put

That love of hospitality 
                                                 & the old Irish 
passion for food and drink            (good food, 

The big claw takes its angle
and drives down hard,
shivering Kezar’s concrete bleachers

Smoking a cigarette in a classroom
a woman is copying sentences from
a book called Our American Way of Life

A large unpleasant woman
Is chasing a songbird around the kitchen
With a broom shouting

Junked hypodermics made it hard to walk
along the Tiber by the deserted, grand
sandstone embankment of the temple block.

It’s a story as famous as the three little pigs:
one evening a man says he is going out for cigarettes,
closes the door behind him and is never heard from again,

But beautiful is the dog lost,
once headed east, then later

in the dark south. But
beautiful is the cold

What kind of a mentality 
causes men to commit suicide in their air-conditioned glass
      boxes?