THEN

In those days we improvised

Nouns learned to verb it

Footing archlessly on fantastic toes.

Properly lit, with prop mustaches

Or malacca canes, virtues

Usefully impersonated vices.

When people ran out, an ape

Made a surprisingly good bishop

Gently hooting and forgiving sins.

MY GODMOTHER DOES NOT RESPECT MY SINS

Most Jews don’t have a godmother
But I do: my mother's old friend Alice.
The pale blue congratulations she sent
When I was born spoke well of the world.
We lost touch after that; I presume she's dead
Since she’s begun dropping by my dreams.
A heavyset blonde with a pleasant face,
She sits down on a camp stool and complains
That my sins are a pale, uninteresting lot;
They should exercise, get out in the sun,
Shed their dark shirts and faded jeans
In favor of codpieces, ruffs and furbelows
Or at least put on vizards and purple cloaks
When they venture into the street. “Your sins
She says, “aren’t feared or loved. Change them!
Sins in farthingales, sins in  slashed doublets
Are the life of every party. When I answer for them,
I want folk to be amazed when we go by
In gaudy procession." She's from California
So I guess I really shouldn't be surprised.

INSULTED

Piqued at being called meagre

And not very grave, my sins

Slapped on false beards

(Which they stroked incessantly)

And did a few halting pushups.

To feel better about themselves

They spent the next day at the beach

Kicking sand in my virtues’ faces.

PERVERSITY

Stubbornness keeps the stone silent
If it wanted, it could sing madrigals.
Let the desire exist for an instant
And the cold heart bursts into flame.
Late nights, when they're off duty, my sins
Mutter over their muddy coffee
That if I'd only repent they could
Enjoy retirement, grow wings, move
To some gated Southern town.