The World Is Too

The World Is Too

I have the books to prove

I am a serious history buff.

Discovering my mother's ancestors

were Russian Jews surprised me

and you know how I loved my mother.

I can think of only two Hank Williams songs

off the top of my head, but I definitely remember

the name of his hometown

unless I am actually driving through south Alabama.

Frivolous were the romantics and shallow Wordsworth,

but I can't recall the titles to any of his poems

except the world is too much with us.

So what if I see great Proteus rise from the sea

or hear old Triton on the horn with those

whose names are never called

when choosing sides for basketball?

I am making coffee mixed with epic butter,

which is not a thing people did

in my father's time.

I want to be a man who says

It is not that I am unmoved. Great God! No.

It is still tomorrow the waking up,

if given a new creed I might have sight

to make me less forlorn, but that is not the problem.

The difficulty in moving

the piano way down the wave

is not its weight, nor even the time of mistakes.

It's that the thing is too big

and will not fit through my heart.