In the hot high sun
                            A red neck
                            And back at one;
                            Coffee at three
                            And the long misery,
                            Dead dead alive 'til five.

                            Stirrup cup
                            At a dull-bright bar
                            And then Number Ten:
                                 The suburb is lying await,
                                 cool green ominous fate.

                            Dinner at seven;
                            A tired tired decision
                            To watch television;
                            Bed at eleven—
                                 Hours to heal the wound,
                                 produce the scar upon the scars.

                            In Trinity Church next Sunday,
                            An old tradition:
                            Death before one's time
                            Is not a crime,
                            But a fruition . . .

                            And the adult education class
                            On Tuesday night
                            Does the merciful rest:
                            Mon Velle
                            Non tantum fortis aut miser,
                            Sed etiam fastidiosus potest.
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