ARE WE THERE YET?

Are we there yet?— comes the restless cry
of bouncing children in the car’s back seat.
No, darlings, we will get there by and by

comes from a front-seat grownup in reply.
Before too long, the rigmarole repeats:
are we there yet? —now a plaintive cry

much louder and annoyingly pitched high.
Again the answer, in a tone now not so sweet:
sit down, be quiet; we will get there by and by.

There is nothing for it but to lie back, sigh
and take a nap or find some munchables to eat.
Are we there yet?—-a forbidden, useless cry.

Staring out the window, a daydreaming little eye
watches the road, the trees, advance, retreat
in endless tickings toward the by and by—

it would inquire of a power in the passing sky
with no one else to hear, unvoiced, discreet—
are we there yet? Then in a whimper, not a cry,
say to itself: just wait until I get there, by and by.
.
.ARE WE THERE YET?

SPARE CHANGE

he’s a wino
he is couthless
and that’s final:

though it might seem
somewhat ruthless
he’s a wino

I remind you
he is truthless
and that’s final:

keep your dime he
uses ruses
he’s a wino

don’t trust smiles so
odd and toothless
and that’s final:

no excuses
he is useless
he’s a wino
and that’s final:

.

HEY NONNY

I forget the song, the one for the rain,
and now is a week of wet space.
Hey nonny tell me how it goes again:

the lift in the wing, the spring-tickled brain,
the chuckle through holes in the lace—
I forget those songs, and the one for the rain.

Nose pressed against the cold glass pane,
I have lost christmas, the child’s window face.
Hey nonny tell me how it goes again:

what wind will spin the leaden weather vane,
how can a nothing be erased—
I forget the song, the one for the rain,

the word of magic that will name,
will put a blankness in its place.
Hey nonny tell me how it goes again:

to softly sit and wait for grace.
This I wish, the gift not to complain.  But
I forget the song, the one for the rain.
Hey nonny tell me how it goes, again.

.