Paul Irving Precedes Me

It’s been said we process through life
leading our own parade, fronting
our second line, wielding a flaming baton

igniting black powder twists to toss
at cheering throngs, though truth be told
I prefer metaphor with less pizazz

something a bit more staid and buttoned
down, protocols clear.  As I make my way
I wish to be preceded by Paul Irving

a stern, eagle beaked fellow,  
House Sergeant-At-Arms, a man given
to regular habits, a guy who knows

exactly where we’re headed and how
to get there.  Paul can be relied upon to
part the waters, stem the flood of

well-wishers with which I must
contend every day, dragging me by my
lapels, bald head pivoting, eyes steely,

scanning the room for trouble, alert to
roadblocks, those bent on delay, keen
to deliver me to my final address.