[6301 – 6400]
From bachelor to bridegroom, his fondness
for Sophia was no affectation.
As he sez in his diary, “No mere
bluff, her sagacity would dwarf a Montague.
Her temperate mien as chaste an offense
[sic] as filthy cigars in the winged
puzzle of diversion.” As they, so we.
We mourn each elementary unit of
fearless utility, each inference
of olive, rusty with a tint of dal.
We un-cork the burgundy & sneer. We
vanish, convicted, as in the fable of Mabel
& her sweetheart, Otto, & marshal all
against the appalling rats of Amsterdam.