That of all people, you
should be impervious to the tale
of persistence and survival
told by the brass doorbells
(Middlemiss, Massie, McDonells)
and their old long forgotten mysteries!
Routines pass, last
less than their material supports,
which then in turn go unnoticed, of course.

I abandon that discourse and the gist of it
and resign myself to this
thwarted, half- hearted effort to split
hair, or the pair
of us. And given that you gliss
over my clues, my cues, I choose the no- retort
solution, opt to pass the time,
and remain waiting for something less sublime
thrown my way: none of this guided tour,
this dour list of names, places, facts
(ouvertures to what acts one wonders);
rather, I pine for some of the beauty of
Shakespeare's English, as a matter of mine.

Thus, in a reversal of your usual plush
awareness of other possibilities - you
miss out on what I think, while I
am on the brink of an abyss, half awaiting
for your push.