Tuesday, June 16, 2015

Roughhouse in the OK Corral

Who could tell what Fergus knew?
Before the wiry child squirmed
Between the panting parents

He might have have tilted one ear
Like a dog, a saintly monk,
Or a kindly grandfather

Curious to understand:
Does any of this matter?
The sweetest thought, that we are

Only silly beings fooled
By our own silliness, groaned
In that voice we used as kids

While pretending to stagger
Around, clutching our bosoms
And gasping, "I'm shot! Goodbye,

Cruel world!" A groan began us,
Rough housing, joking, shooting
Stars; a groan delivered us;

A groan will let us go through
The saloon doors we have been
Pushing and imagining

Opening, opened for us.
It's just rodeo clowning.
Rough stuff, life, not serious.

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