where privies lean
a little more each year
and morning light falls
weightless on rain barrels

Enclosed you’ll find a Chevy
with running boards
a Burma Shave sign
that points the way you'll

travel years from now
I’ve wrapped with care
the smell of citronella
camphor and cod liver oil

the gramophone scratching out
Hi-Di-Hi’s and Bye-Bye-Blues
A blade of grass to whistle through
a fortress at the beach