How strange the reanimated legionaries must br Be going as they fell up into your Pleiades br Which aren’t even real constellations, br Just sisterhoods somewhere in the hallucinations of br The jungle- br Or like not dressing out for gym, br And getting to stare quite contentedly at her jiggling, br And not having to do anything about it: br And this sun is a constant good sport, br And we drink vodka before class and quack farts br Right alongside the toads in the premeditated algebra br Of the sweet young campus’ landscaping. br Right before us the sky is like the pink rose I passed br Over to give her for the br Red, red roses, to hear her mouthing off and laughing br With her friends, br And then having to watch her up on the lacquered stage br Kissing the leading man, br But never believing it was real, absolutely; br And then all of the days receding into the migrations of br Wolverines and school buses, br The mailboxes opening up clear throated at our cul-de-sacs br And turn abouts, coming homes into the br Laps of middle-class huckstery, the sugar-cone estuaries br I’m sure you know about: br Watching Jordan’s sister Abigail digress into her nudity br Beside the best of all pools, br And the clouds cottoning to their own pace, br Having now reminiscence for who I might love that br Very afternoon.