WITH CAT

You think it is 2018 and early morning birds

Sing loudly in late Spring. I know

That it is 1935 and winter is here -- see my coat?

It is heavy and torn and some buttons

Have been replaced by pins.

(In truth, I always wear this coat

Because I am always cold.)

Usually I look down, scanning the ground

For half-smoked cigarettes, my cap pulled down

So that my eyes are in shadow

But now I look at you; my picture's being taken

Here, beneath the French bridge where I sleep.

I'm holding my black cat; why shouldn't she

Have her picture taken? I've seen your dreams;;

Not for a minute do I believe them.

THE OTHER SIDE OF THE CANAL

The bridge was torn down long ago

If you must cross it, Canaletto

Painted it; the picture shows Venice;

You’ll find it in Montreal.

First, you must make friends

With some of Canaletto’s staffage –

Those figures populating his pictures

So the buildings won’t feel lonely.

(Try for some of the early ones; he later

Just painted vaguely human blobs

Who have no vices and rarely smile)

Enveloped in a red cape, you’ll pass

As one of the Doge’s entourage.

If you wish to return, Canaletto

Cannot help you. Seek, but do not trust,

Some master of chiaroscuro.

CONTINUING EDUCATION

To keep their licenses, supernatural beings

Have to occasionally take classes
Intended to keep them informed
On recent developments in theurgy.
Seated alphabetically, Abaddon,
The angel of the abyss, sits by Abiala,
An African goddess who carries a pistol.
Next to her -- perhaps -- is invisible Alif

And so on, until Zzzaxx, who isn't’real.

Knowing this has made him bitter

As has his certain sense that even if

He were to cross the illimitable distance

Of the lecture room, crossing the bridge,

Leaping the chasm, evading

The Concupiscent Bees and surviving

The Hopscotch Game of Eternal Doom,

Abiala still would have no truck with him.