Poem XXVII: Booty

This century's ass
is already full
of gold doubloons
and pieces of eight

Poem IX: My Childhood?

To the mata mata which had chilled for years
at the bottom of his tank at Little Hipp's
that burger joint on N. St. Mary's, San Antone,
Ellen and I would sing our song:

Please don't take my creature from Brazil.
Please don't take my creature from Brazil.
Please don't take my creature.

                                                  From.

                                                               Brazil.

and when it died
we sang it to its empty shell

Please don't take my creature from Brazil.
Please don't take my creature from Brazil.
Please don't take my creature.
                                                  From.
                                                             Brazil.


You were asking what my childhood was like
and now you know.





Note: this one was directed to the First Lady.