Of
the full load of summer, you came with a basket
Filled
with colored globes. I looked from my latticed window
To
search for you running toward me, screened by dark willow,
The
rustle of whose leaves whispered your nearness.
I
would have sucked the piths of a spreading banquet,
But
stood aloof and sour, feeling like an asshole.
I
wonder why I wanted to be such an asshole,
Why
I would not partake of the full, thatched basket
That
summer tendered. I guess that the high window
Through
which I viewed the day, and the thick willow
Screen,
made me pause and doubt your nearness.
I
sat down to an unfulfilling banquet.
And
I would think as I rose from my banquet
How
sad it was to be this lonely asshole,
Missing
the gift, wanting the foregone basket.
And
I'd return again to my placid window.
Pendants
of light would reach me through the willow,
But
no regaling sound to serve for nearness.
And
as I mused up there, a glint of the nearness
Of
the cold stars pricked at my eyes. It
was a banquet
Of
stone that I beheld, fit for the asshole
That
I had found myself to be. There was a basket
Of
ashen, slab-shaped tablets, shaped like white windows
To
be placed there in the soft turf under the willow.
And
then the night came down, and rain, and the willow
Shook
and its branches slashed together. No nearness
Now,
no thought of a resumed banquet.
And
the hail struck at the roof and screamed at me, Asshole!
Then
the stars came out like cats' eyes in a basket,
And
I saw the pale moon rise through the shrouded window.
And
there was no more to think. My pallid window
Turned
wholly blank. The extremest twigs of the
willow
Scratched
against the pane, but their crazy nearness
Caused
nary a tear. If there had been a banquet
Set
for arriving guests, some asshole
Had
scared the guests away and spilled the basket.
How
could this asshole have so spoiled the banquet
As
to preclude all nearness—grasping for willow
strands
through the shattered window to restore a basket.1990-ish
