Brave new world when this mustachioed,
tousle-haired old geezer
met this brash young rich kid with the
slicked spikes and soul patch,
begat the devil-may-care millionaire,
and Paige typesetters melted
into West Egg moonshine.
He put down the three martinis
and clamped on a New England hard-hat,
then went out frothing foam,
having drowned a mass
of brave and witless men
in a sea of electrified fencing.
Meanwhile the kid woke up
one morning at age forty
and found he’d misplaced his wife
and his entire digestive system,
down the tubes like so
many lost countries.