pigs,
and this one pig wallowed in his slough
as the others chewed grass and made pig

We all know where we will be a hundred years from now:
beyond the dailiness of this slow panic
and the fear always present behind the look of denial;

the class simply transformed, a chain of satyrs
and maenads wound through my puerile lecture

To get to this place, 
you must go through the village which is above.
If you find yourself before the mountain

It’s breakfast time. For a moment we pause
and taste a hunger like expectancy

They have come from dinner at the nearest new restaurant—
you know the kind: bottle glass in the window,
brass rails, and a fanciful line of red neon

A lovely suburban colonial,
built in the 1950s
(that era of civil defense)
had a bomb shelter in the basement

He omm’ed a curtsy right at the spiritual!
   —but the Man Upstairs wasn’t listening.

the organ teacher says, “If you don’t mind,
I’ll lock you in,” and goes. That rinse of light,
clear and Protestant, stirs an opposite,