So, here’s my plan:
let’s fight all wars with old men now.
At the point diplomacy breaks down,
let a battlefield be agreed on,
and liberally strewn with porta-potties.

You are kingpin to my comfort,
my non-back-and-leg pain, my sleep
with deep dreams.
I’m sorry, it’s only when you get out of line that I notice you.

The naked lover covers his groin
with his left hand, while hanging
by his right from a window sill.
Behind glass, an irate, presumed
husband searches the horizon—
a diminutive blond in bikini
underwear at the rear.