Sunday's Whirligig
when he was fifteen
wearing a black cape
writing inscrutable verse
he prowled about
lusting after the neighbour's daughters
cheerleaders
in short pleated velvet skirts
now alone
a doddering blathering
wrinkled antiquity
his words became hollow skulls
the only one who listened was his cat

Donald Hall 1928 - 2018
"But, decades later, when the dead
have stopped blathering
about olives, obese halfbacks wheeze
upstairs to sleep beside cheerleaders
waiting for hip replacements, "
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