perhaps you have forgotten
your quest for paradise
no longer bite people on the leg
and have learned to pretend to be nice
the princess in the tower
still ignores you as you pass by
the pirates in the pool hall
never thought you were a regular guy
the puppy that you loved so much
wants to play a game
but you prefer to smoke your pipe
to your eternal shame
the portraits in your ancestral home
still percolate on the walls
but nothing is left in the iron safe
but uncle paul’s golf balls
pour another cup of coffee
as you wait for lawyer smith
the handyman left last evening
but who did he leave with?
you left your pink pajamas
in a subway telephone booth
your poems turn to popsicle sticks
and your lies to truth
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