Fifties Utopia

Every evening the dreaded
Five o’clock shadow
Darkens the world of men

And their drinking birds
With their top hats and cyclopean eyes
Stop dipping their beaks

Into the fountain of youth,
Old Blue Eyes croons casually
From Here to Eternity

On a back lot soundstage.
Then the men of material matters must
Make their way home

In the land of darkness.
It’s as itchy and cold
As a Russian boy in a dunce cap

Walking through a back alley
Of raspberry bushes and broken boards.
It might even begin to snow,

Too bad the Cadillac of mirrors
On the dusty mantle won’t reflect it.
Even the mystery play

In the spirit grocer is footnoted
With temperance and good grooming,
A Molotov cocktail after dinner.

God’s shadow, cast over all men,
Doing their best to keep a straight face
With a straight razor on their necks.