(at a time and place, where days are no longer individuated by name, any day, everyday, can be a Saturday)
~~~~
sometimes ya gotta get help,
to see yourself, in the light of
of other's filtered x~ray vision,
to cut through the indecision,
am I this or that, dog or cat,
what the heck, I gave me best,
and no one has ever called me
                                                     poet yet,
cause i'm in a new york city f(r)amed of mined

broadway is just an indian path,
we stole. borrowed & renamed,
the Yankees haven't won a Series
since time in memoriam, forget the mets
no one ever called them a baseball team
                                                        ever, yet,
when i'm in a new york city f(r)amed of mined

guests /(locust pests) have invaded every
crannied nook, sand and rugelach
crumbs, will be spewed, & spend
the rest/best  of their now[Surprise!]
extended 7 day weekend, while the
man~maid/me!made follows close on from
behind with damp cloth & hand hell'd (not a typo)
vacuum till I throw in the towel and get
the big guns, showing my grumpy age of 101,
and I'm just doing my cranky impression
of Lenny Bruce in a Bill Joel fouled up mood
                                                          ca­use, yup,
when i'm in a new york city cranky f(r)amed of mined

been up since 195?, haven't gotten a good night sleep
since the first time they counted my fingers and toes,
god knows, came in yowling. cranky even then,
and here I am on a gorgeous funday sunday on
my hands and knees, not very pleased because a sandy
beach is now in the living room, the geese are back
for a fourth time, to foul the lawn and my mood,
around 10am, the guests will be emerging uncocooned,
stomack growling. for bagel, challah french toast, oat milk (WTFO),
and me listening to Nina S., cause today's a best-to-get-in-an all~in
moody blues haze around my head and all cause
                                                           nothing good occurs
when i'm in a new york city double swanky f(r)amed of mined

ok she's not eavesdropping on my mind or over shoulder
spying on what I'm writing, but she knows where my
head is at because she counts my sighs like I count
her sneezes,  and she's leaving before the cleanup
begins, and some blood may get spilled, cause **** me
when i'm in a new york city f(r)amed of mined

anything can happen, especially
when them they ask if they can "have''
the house for, uh, every September, weekend,
and i just walk to the beech,
and hang myself from with
the ropes from the tree swing,
and whaddya know!
                                                  i'm no longer in
                                  a new york city f(r)amed of mined