Virgin or whore,
blitzing to the wrong
end zone? The phone
rings -- it is my mother.
In a dream the both of us
together descend
a wooden staircase
to beneath the waterline.
In a submerged Old West
ghost town facade
we look for seats by the window.
My mother is old
And the tables topped
with baize. Blazing Megiddo!
Man's world slides away
from the globe up top.
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