Everything comes and goes like this,
boringly fast drills-
look and it's passed. Sadness and thrills too
are soldiers. There's no point in turning it over,
and over. The visit, however quick and smooth
warrants the quick and harsh pains. We're used to
never going back.
How is it sad?
How can it be anything else, but we're miffed
for thoughts of the ragged edges of what we've had-
and all this, carrying our shiniest wrappings
for merrymaking instruments to one day tarnish,
that we'll collect as antiques and garnish
our mantle-piece with them.
Nostalgia is all the rage,
so ignore the tea and collect the dish.