Then come the Joeys and Davids and Mikes
With rucksacks and pikes
And fingers and dikes
Riding their blue and red isinglass trikes.

And in the street the dogs dance jigs
With giggles and wigs
And bagels and figs
Eating cardamom candy pigs.

Even silence squeals in rage
I'm jangling my cage
And fearing my age
My brush careens right off the page.

Stomp my feet and wail and hiss
Shout "fuck and piss,
Something's amiss,
Who can write on nights like this?"