Invocation, and a Sort of Lullaby

Jonathan Weinert

     ~

Bills unpaid, and half the rent, the baby 

 Pleistocene with borrowed heat, 

 I sing. No one coaxes（哄骗）

or demurs（异议，反对）. Empty fail the savage pines, 

 their stock of seed already spent. 

 Three finches（雀类） huddle in the planter. 

     ~

Go to sleep, my little dinosaur, 

 with no accounts or credits. Sleep, 

 while sleep alone is due. Soon 

a frozen blanket will be pulled, 

 and all the local rodents will descend --

 a fall election, and the virgin birth 

again. My little five-eighths Jew, 

 such doings mean as much to you 

 as Keno to a coelacanth. Sleep. 

If I could strip my postures bare, 

 or stripe my knees to charm 

 obsequious（谄媚的） poetry, I'd sing 

a wiser, more distinguished song. 

 My little mastodon, stay warm. 

 The agencies are everywhere, and cannot care.