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Like Every Summer
You can instruct but not command the heart.
She is a masculine thing, and goes where she
Wants. This summer I led her to water
She would not drink, and like Dorothy Parker's
Whore, she would think about the ideas
I’d pre-selected for her. I wanted
To give you a book of my years,
Every slight and substance of my life.
Not as metaphor but as synecdoche
(That delicious clonking term) for everyone's
Life. Get it? She didn't. What can I say?
Like every summer, she jots down my directions,
Nods, slips them in her pocket,
Waves her thanks, then goes her own way.
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