What Really Matters

I plucked a perfect pepper's
hooked Punchinello nose
in the backyard. It appeared
to be Turtle-waxed,
so commercial the glaze.
I can't find John Wieners'
Selected anywhere and miss
his crazed, eroti-
schizoid babble. Babyspeak
of the murderer on death row
on Investigation Discovery
amused me in my sleep.
I type beside an open window
and hear a trolley ding.
There are no trolleys in Steelton!
The Steel Mill has a sonic
sense of humor, jokes.
The notorious groundhog
(long assumed dead) appears
on the stone wall munching greens.
He eyes me warily, like all
allegedy dead outlaws.
I guess I'd better not tender
his biography for consideration
on Disappeared. I had
considered it. Missing a looter
is seldom a good idea,
but many spend years.

Or more than years.