The Reformation

Yes, Mr.  Anthony, I’ll take the check, even knowing what happens to the genii’s fairy coin.

The Reformation

Do you remember
in the black and whites,
the comedies of wealth,
rich fat women
throwing medicine balls
running in the desert
collapsing
in boxes leaking steam
and starving on sticks of celery
and champagne.
I want to be one of them.

Yep.
Gimme the mon, hon, and I’m off.
Off to be
Re Spected
In Spected
Pro Tected
Re Juvenated
Re Formulated
and Re Packaged.
However
Long
It
Takes.

Jim and the cats can come along, of course,
and live in a neat little cottage on the grounds,
eating red meat with other significants
who have no need of re-calibration.

And while we’re out,
A team of trained professionals—
do not try this yourselves, this course is closed—
Will clean and pack our useful things
And cart them carefully away
To Eden—
or rather to some place like—
Green-constructed
Open-floorplanned
Well-wired and -plumbed
Beside a lake (and not a Tennessee-style mudhole, either, mind you.  Make it Canada-cold)

With modules all around for all my needy, rowdy friends
and the folks who’ll keep us clean and fed.
And we’ll all write and argue.
Make music, paint, and fight.
Perform our plays, agree to disagree.
Pot and plant and have movies with popcorn and beer,
and backbite, snipe and
otherwise have a gray old time
For just as long as we last.