Nouveau Pauvre

I do not require a ton of pink marble, 

a hundred tubes of paint, 

or an enormous sky lit loft.

All I need is a pen, 

a little blank notebook,

and a lamp with a seventy-five watt bulb.

Of course, and oak desk would be nice, 

maybe a chair of ergonomic design,

and a collie lying on an oval rug,

always ready to follow me anywhere

or just sniff my empty palm.

And I would not turn down a house

canopied by shade trees,

a swing suspended from a high limb, 

flowering azaleas around the porch,

pink, red and white. 

I might as well add to the list

a constant supply of pills 

that would allow me to stay awake all night

without blinking,

a cella full of dusty bottles of Bordeaux,

a small radio —

nothing , I assure you, would go unappreciated.

Now if you wouldn’t mind 

leaving me alone —

and please close the door behind you 

so there won’t be such a draft

on my shoulders —

I will get back to work

on my long metrical poem, 

the one I will recite to the cheering throng 

prior to your impending beheading.