It's a gray pea coat
and two dice in the pocket
tumbling over fingers,
a smoky table
groaning under
the weight of Tarot;
it's two boys
throwing rocks at the cat.
So lie to strangers
and waltz drunk and reckless
because the whole band is playing
because the bad news is coming
there's a whole book of it
autographed
and addressed to you
There's even a screenplay
and a pall mall
pressed in the heroine's trap
and professors
that argue over it
All the while
a bemused pantheon looks on --
Surprisingly it was
THE METHODISTS
who turned out to be right;
which makes for crappy TV
but great takeout
egg rolls lovingly fried
under their auspices
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