~ after Hieronymus Bosch, “The Ship of Fools (Wayfarer Triptych),” ca. 1500-10
but our standard is Death, flowering head
atop a mast encircled by foliage—
We’ve cut down the very wood
and cunningly fashioned a sail
woven of wheat stalks and dried roses.
If we buy two more Pu Pu Platters,
the next hour of Magic Mic and Grand
Videoke is free. We can sing with Lenny
tell me why we got to die
And kill each other one by one
We’ve got to love and rub-a-dub…
And the waters are green and fine:
not a ship, not a plane in sight, not
one boy losing his wings and falling
from the empty sky. This is the life,
or a few crowded versions of it, removed
from the encroaching stays of parable.