NEW MANAGEMENT

Because they did not understanding 

Her nature, Mourning was apprenticed

To Felicity. When the old woman died 

Mourning, marrying her widower,

Took over the business. She knows 

Every one of the old tricks but

Somehow hasn't prospered.

DELIVERY

Since she's on duty tonight, the Moon 

Has asked you to accept, if it arrives,

A dream she's been expecting. In it,

She is not an orbiting mass of rock 

Just over two thousand miles wide;

Neither is she a goddess, lovely 

And made more so by the knowledge 

That she cannot be trusted. Her dream -- 

She won't mind if you try it out --

Is of being a widow with a pension

Living in a small apartment. Sometimes 

She listens to a radio which believes 

It is still 1947. On sunny days,

She takes a short walk and then rests 

On a wooden bench (always the same one).

She closes her eyes and pays attention

To the passing voices of cars and of people.

CONJURE

At any corner speak

Or just  think

Her name; Libitina

Conjures herself  

From leaves and

The shadows seconds
Leave behind.

If she asks

What you want, reply

“Simply

The great pleasure

Of your company.”

True that

From certain angles

She isn’t there.

Don't allow this

To make you hesitate --

From other ones

Neither are you.

ARMED

How modest, they said, she

Is like a violet, small and

Pretty in the way that things 

Are called pretty as consolation 

For being defenseless.

If only violets would learn

To swear and spit and 

Twine themselves around 

Trembling aspens, polishing

Thorns they'd bought

From dubious roses!

NONE OF MINE

Some stranger's ghosts have decided

To come around when I'm trying to sleep 

And sit on my chest. Their large eyes glare 

Reproaching me for sins that aren't mine

(Some of which seem so complicated

It would take many years to commit them

As well as unusual dexterity.) My own ghosts --

The traitors! -- quietly chat with each other 

Or dance with their shadows while alien ghosts -- 

Non-union, I'll be bound -- do their jobs for them.

CONSPIRACY

It's been suggested that the cat

Who came when I'd tried

To summon my dead 

May have his own agenda.

Since I've been reading

The poems of Li He

I asked his spirit what 

The cat might be up to.

(Li He died young but wrote

Every day except when he

Was blind drunk or in mourning.)

He said "Why do you assume 

The cat and I are not in league?"

VISITOR

Bad enough; my dead refuse

To heed my call. Worse;

They've sent me a cat

Brindled, surly, insolent,

Who sneeringly apologizes

For their absence. His insincerity

Couldn't be more obvious.