It doesn't mean a thing, really.
Those Merlot stained glasses, tilting.
The tracing of a protractor
around its plastic frame, numbers
and senseless numbers smashed
into degrees of the leaf
after it has fallen from the tree.
Shamrocks grouped together in
a green puddle the boy laid inside
when he was eight, care-freed
and free to care::
about anything, really. It doesn't
matter now that holes have been dug,
and inside those wholes dug out,
each body seeded the same way.
The world swung around
the sun on the 2's and 4's.
And as its audience snapped
their fingers on, well.. the 1's and 3's,
martini's were filled in orderly fashion
by those fashionably dressed.
The piano asked for ice, and
would you believe a thousand waitresses?
