The Wetnesses

WHO are we, the eighty aged ones,
We who have seen so many summer suns,
We that guard the doors,
That polish the floors,
That pull the little boat with the eighty oars,
We of the river, the water kings,
Masters of music, riders on eighty wings
(And that’s one each), owners of eighty eyes
And eighty eyeshades? Ho, in what far skies
We drip while the damp world dries.
There on the Bogus Mountains,
Pseudo-symbolical soda fountains,
There, friends, we languish,
Knowing ecstasy, anguish,
Eating a potted ham sanguish.
We are the hungry aged ones, the eighty,
Johnnie and Joe and Jennie and Karl and Katie,
Sitting over the world, eighty old bores,
Keeping the rivers from running dry and guarding the doors,
Like tenpenny idols bought in the multiple stores.