How could it be
that it's just me
wondering when we
will laugh again with glee.

What scared ghost do we flee
into Summer's buzzing bee
passed a late Falling tree?

I grant that he
has a good degree
and a family pedigree,
but aren't we all free?

I feel tainted with frosty
touches of Northern fee,
invoices billed from a Cree
living in tent or tipi
while burning my effigy.

Down on one knee
at a Maypole jubilee,
drunk and happy,
tragically at the end greedily
eating too much Sandra Lee,
that's me!

Half squinting a dopie
smile and slanting queer
boats with rhyming keel,
I barter with a misty sea,
wanting badly to ***,
but instead shade my eyes to see.

Discarded to dry.