Tends to explain while complaining
how insubstantial molehills used
to be when mountains should have been
enough. Passes over the Shh!
and Hush! Forgets the impact of
Shut up! Then maunders on and on
about love that fades, Fates that behave
badly, and all those cascades of
rain and floods that never amount
to much. Except for all that mud.
Whatever it says it takes a
long while to say it, then glosses
over its own glossary of
words it has appropriated,
dressing up for a masquerade
or Hallowe’en. Please be quiet
could be in its repertoire, but
you must wait for it, even when
you thought it was finally done.
The P. S. strikes its one note like
a gong, reverberating along.
