Alone, I

know of him. I don't want

to speak of him. He's brilliant.

His underwear is radiant.

The Davis Cup

came apart in his hands. A seasoned jester.

A basket case. Mother brought the children.

We all survived tennis.

The gale picked up.

Buildings waved in it, and the tentacles

of a giant squid, seeking a memento

lost some years ago near the Donner Pass.

Seriously, I want my memento back!

The cabin cruisers of morning

edge tentatively closer-

why, it's all a sham!

Prince Charming's dropping cigarette ash

on topiary chessmen. The ugly sisters are uncertain.

Cinderella is out. Period. Gargoyles are in great demand,

but if so, why say so? You'll come back, with childhood lusting

after evil groceries, and more of them to take care of.

Youth is wasted on the old.

Like I said, the days, these days, come calibrated.