Off I go again to the Jazz Age.
This time I will not fall in love
with Daisy. The parties on the lawn
are crasser, the men stupider,
the women shallower than
I remember. I did not and
do not envy you, old sport.
You are even more pathetic
if that is possible. You have
it all wrong, all wrong. You
are too young. Do not succumb
to your death dream. But I see
you hear her laughter and turn
your head. She enters the room
and looks in our direction.
And we are both goners.
Again.
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