My Friend, My Brother, Dear Writer of the Decade

I don’t want to hear about your troubles
I’m not going to tell you about mine.
It’s OK by me if you came
from Albany, Ohio
Or upstate Des Moines,
New Jersey.
And I forgive you
the Second World War
and/or Korea. Only
just don’t tell me about it.
I too had a childhood.
What the hell, who hasn’t?
Ripped its seams, and tried to grow
Nursed its pains and watched the scars unheal.
But like — who was it said it —
“Skip it!”
Fats Waller?
Diamonds that Woolworth doesn’t —
You see, you’ve got me started
You and your twenty-year-ago sorrows
You roaming the streets of New York
Now correcting themes in Albany.
At the great University of