Gap-Toothed Hoedown

In my shaking scratched lines

I am with the older aligned

Their papers musty fug

Their love of the jug

Their memory of the schism

Their anti-liberalism

Dancing to pace the night

With those of the far right

–

How they could keep time

With poems that could rhyme

Their voice shaking rafters

Over those come just after

Who cross-legged on the stage

Starting their first page

Laid each period and comma

After every little drama

To leave us nothing but booked

In a world clearly fooked

–

Should have skipped a generation

And from grandpa got grandson

What the world would have seen

If the middle had never been