A Modern Love Song

Let me not to the marriage of true minds admit impediment, except,
Of course, those practical considerations of time and distance,
I must have time to finish my degree after all, and you,
Well, we both know you've got important things on your mind.

Let me not to the marriage of true desires admit impediment,
Except if you want to travel later, or if you hate my friends,
Or if you get jealous or if I get bored, or if either of us
Decides to be gay, there'll be no hard feelings of course

It's all a bit outdated these days, anyway.

A Hymn to Mowbray

Ossewa trolley, where do you go
In the nighttime, carrying your cargo
Of ragged clothes and rotten food,
Tattered cardboard to build frayed shelter,
And scruffy discards with which to build a
Memory?

Ossewa trolley, the squeaking wheels
Of your street serenade, bassline
To the calling melodies of the Trolley Men
The Mowbray Men, the Men who live
Their lives in public, who take tea
Outside the 7/11

Ossewa trolley, where do you go
With a load as big as that lady's groceries,
With a home as big as that lady's
Groceries, where do you go in the
Nighttime, is there a journey of streets?
Is there a journey of memory?

Do you squeak along the trails of the
Empty mountain, do you rattle a worship
To the Togo, a song for the old clay
That saw itself and laughed, remember
Displacement, remember Da Gama, remember
And ask, old ossewa of the new streets:

Where is this
Future
They spoke of?