not even love

you said you’d show me a good time
but now it’s past time
and I’m uncertain of the days

my mother’s people came from Italy
but the limestone Auden praised
means not a thing to me

nor all the masters at top table
I’d like to name them
when I’ve had a few

they mutter sonnets in their soup again
they should be locked away
for what they did to me

we have no culture but the one we made
a gaudy hit parade
tinsel and after-shave

what is a good time anyway
you never did quite say
before you went

oh how the masters would lament
not even love is heaven sent

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