Different kinds of birds roost on the same clothesline—
chickadees, white-throated sparrows.
They seem to get along fine.
Different-believing people stand in the same check-out line.
Do they have the same joys and sorrows
as one another, different bums in the same breadline?
It’s the end of the world as we know it and we feel fine.
To hell with our apprehensions and our worries!
I hope we’ll get along fine
whatever happens, however God’s thumb inclines.
Soon enough we’ll be resting with the dead Pharaohs
anyhow, hanging on the clothesline
of history, with our jeans and our socks hanging down
(before we went back in the house and shut all the doors).
OK, we're cashing in our
for a new kink in the evolutionary chain.
Is that Clarence Darrow or is that Ed Sullivan
himself up there on that clothesline,
crowing the sun up fine?
