Invocation, and a Sort of Lullaby

Jonathan Weinert

~

Bills unpaid, and half the rent, the baby

Pleistocene with borrowed heat,

I sing. No one coaxes（哄骗）

or demurs（异议，反对）. Empty fail the savage pines,

their stock of seed already spent.

Three finches（雀类） huddle in the planter.

~

Go to sleep, my little dinosaur,

with no accounts or credits. Sleep,

while sleep alone is due. Soon

a frozen blanket will be pulled,

and all the local rodents will descend --

a fall election, and the virgin birth

again. My little five-eighths Jew,

such doings mean as much to you

as Keno to a coelacanth. Sleep.

If I could strip my postures bare,

or stripe my knees to charm

obsequious（谄媚的） poetry, I'd sing

a wiser, more distinguished song.

My little mastodon, stay warm.

The agencies are everywhere, and cannot care.