5

Institution boys, 58 brown-shoed young men,

Three good cliques one good band of all of us,

8 over at the wash basins preening and jesting.

Harry taps the paint with his feet, timeless radio on his night stand,

We are what Don Henley was talking about, summer boys

and heart-breakers on a free stint (so we think).

Thirty minutes and we’ll set up to arrive, till then cards and drinks,

Joe will drive, more in a convoy like we’re invading a continent for God’s sake.

I’m brave, first proposition that we go places, (Elijah has lost his frames, tortoiseshell, under the bed, he’s a scape goat and a standing joke, our hero though)

So that’s what we’ll do.

All of us here in the warm evening, a dorm of lion cubs, one window wide open

To the girls below on fifth (one less wolf-whistle than usual, find those glasses bud).