O sock drawers of paunchy, square-fingered mowers, monochromatic sedan drivers!

May you be spiked forever with rogue golf tees, the ubiquitous Playboy

secreted always in your depths.

O cut-glass decanters of the wet bar! O filament light sculpture!

O deep blue, wall-to-wall misery smooth as the skin of the inner thigh—

let no decorator revise you.

O fainting couch, green glow of banker's lamp, O Reader's

Digest Condensed Books tawdry in your gilt spines! O intendance of oak

paneling, of chenille swag and fleur-de-lis!

O furbished stereo console! O high fidelity! O Whipped

Cream and Other Delights! O Jump Up Calypso! O On The Street

Where You Live! O My

Fair Lady still jacketed and unmolested! Endure beneath the sunburst

clock and the swirled plaster of the ceiling spangled

with flecks of light!

O aquamarine coin of wading pool! O corrugated carport overhang!

May you share eternally those trellises of summer afternoons

drowsy with pink blooms.

And O split-level entryway, wrought-iron balustrade—glazed bonecage of the landing!

O soft, skylit corridors and childhoods murdered in each room

remain, remain!

Remain unchanged as the dioramas forgotten in library storerooms, pristine,

delicate as embryos, dazzling as miniature scenes jewelled

into enamel eggs.