Children in The Sky
the boys come up
the boys climb up the
brown pole
as the waterheater gurgles
in Spanish
the boys climb the
brown pole—
Charlemagne fought for this
Il Duce was tilted from his car
skinned like a bear
and hung
upsidedown
for this—
the boys climb up
the brown pole
3 or 4 of
them;
we have just moved in this building,
the paintings still
unpacked, the letters from
England and Chicago and
Cheyenne and
New Orleans,
but the beer’s on
and there are 5 oranges
and 4 pears on the table
so life’s not
bad
except somebody wanted
$15 to
turn on the gas;
the boys climb the phonepole
to leap onto the
bluegreen
garage roofs
and I stand naked
behind a curtain,
smoking a cigar,
and impressed
impressed as I can be
as if
the Virgin Mary
was dancing
outside;
and through the window
to the North
I can see 2 men
feeding
45 pigeons
and the pigeons
walk in separate circles
of 8 or 10
as if tied together
by a revolving string,
and it is 3 o’clock
in the afternoon and
a good cigar.
Cicero fought for this,
Jake LaMotta and
Waslaw Nijinsky,
but somebody stole
our guitar
and I haven’t taken my
vitamins
for weeks.
the boys run on the
greenblue roofs
as to the North the
pigeons rise;
it is desperately
holy
and I blow out
grey and quiet
smoke.
then a woman in a red coat,
evidently an official,
some matron of
learning
decides that
the sky needs
cleaning:
Hey!!! you boys get
DOWN
from there!
it is beautiful as
deer
running from the
hunter.
Agrippina fought for this,
even Mithridates,
even William Hazlitt.
there is nothing to do
now
but unpack.
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