I can not give like the bus people give
I can not love like the gym dogs love
I live with them as a crow among
Cardinals or the mourning dove singing
His dirge as the lilacs come to life.
Like an old spinster aunt, treated polite,
Deferentially, kindly if a bit superfluous,
With her Bichon Frise in a t-shirt.
I walk through the corridors giving
Pleasant looks and peasant stares.
The hands move and lights change,
Microsoft is up at twenty-nine twenty,
The new phone can remove ugly warts
And even will lay a million golden eggs.
But the clown is warning the village
That it is burning down, flaming out,
But all they can do is laugh thinking
The circus has again come to town.