After My Birthday Dinner
friends had gifted me and tottered
homeward at dusk, I dozed on my sagging sofa,
TV grumbling, and dreamed of a shadowy den
with flickering pastel torches, strangely goopy.
he turned, I saw that he had lost
through poor dental hygiene at last his horrifical uppers
and yawned in his La-Z Boy, watching the news after dinner,
harrumphing, Mina, where's my goddamn glasses?
have burned and buried his monstrous cape,
for he wore a terrycloth bathrobe in robin's-egg blue
and brandished his goblet, cursing those bastards in Congress
and CableTime West as his picture sucked inward and died.
of course, I woke up and laughed like a maniac
to think I had even dreamed that someone as hard-ass
as hegood Christ on a bicycle!could have forgotten
the taste of young blood and settled for cheap red wine.