You needn’t be born a Bourbon
To dream your funereal deluge,
Some climactic climatic disturbance
To rain out the end of your reign.
A desultory drizzle of tears
Is the most that most of us get,
Precious precipitation
But scarcely the torrent we merit.
We’d prefer a proportionate downpour
But will settle for rills swelling
And basements portentously flooded—
Though even some frustrated faucets
Would do, a drop in the pressure,
Ice in the pipes of the world.
YOU MIGHT ALSO LIKE
The Madness in Miami
The great boxing spectacles of the past—the Thrilla in Manila (1975) and the Rumble in the Jungle…
Lancelot in the Desert
The Last Westernerby chilton williamson jr.386 pages, st. augustine’s press, $19.95 In his dedication to The Last…
The Lonely Passion of Reginald Pole
A year after I became a Catholic, when my teenaged son was thinking about college, we visited…
