Six o’clock which means you are getting there
in the nightly ritual of lasting longer
than what is allowed to mortals and worriers
it means guessing you are safe from storms.
The north crew coming down and in a hurry
east crew is stuck on some kind of transformer
tea and coffee warmed up on the edge of town
borrowed music frozen and then rehashed.
The boss lies down on the couch to watch
the workers like a well-fed cat would
nothing gets done in this gawdamighty world
without someone watching everything I do.
Answering only the more pressing questions
the hammer and sickle in me make music
if there gets to be too much detail
split it up and give each part a shot.
Talked with a young professor at the gym
he teaches what he doesn’t know but is popular
students can still learn if you get on their level
right or are you stuck in old days of discipline?
The age of exploration started on my birthday
half a life ago when I couldn’t care less
days of grammar and nights breaking rules
both requiring doing battle with fools.
When the bagpipes play everything else stops
six o’clock and the whisky is waiting
all this hasty going out and coming in
wastes the minutes labored hard for.
Sunny Jim with another name lights up the fall
through the bushes the water sings all night
dogs bark at the moon like they did at the day
what’s coming is coming no matter what you say.