Northeast Building

—after John Ashbery

Things are rough, I know, I said taking you out

had no strings attached, but it’s not often I see you

and wasn’t it you who whispered a smile

is a precious thing to waste?

So here the modus operandi greets us in a row

as you say it should, though not your cup of tea nor mine,

a punishment, like Greyhound (for lack of trains)

all part of your rollover-to-live-to-see-another-day plan

gone on umpteen years. I guess it might seem better

as the world closes in, stiffens, and at least

you dropped in from the sixth

and I borrowed your light nine to sink a birdie.

Who said I raised my voice? Sheesh, it wasn’t even your turn

just a penny opera, no mute scream could

breakdown the onslaught of Mack the Knife.

All in good fun even you say

like daffy-go-Bucky all top-down, robes flowing open

quite the monsieur de la maison, newspaper ruffled

and plop, a robin dives outside and audiences pirouette

on their bums to hear the upshot, pas du tout. Double sheesh.

So tell yourself we’re on the up and up

and the hologlobe spinning under our fingers will come around

to a lost island in the Pacific slowly sinking,

but no need to send in the llamas—

we’ve seen what that does. Try steering clear

of what makes you unhappy without letting it down.

See you when flights resume.

(Nov. 10, 2014)