DO YOU

Do you really wish to be
Umberto Eco's echo
or name the rose
of Gertrude Stein
and drink from her
red wine glass in Paris
and not be embarrassed
(not even to be harassed)
by the Occupation
or be Bishop's bishop
or Sexton's sexton
or stop by at confession
even if it be in poetry
or at watch
to envy Sargent's agent
who sold his paintings
as a Boston professional
turned up
in a Yankee's uniform
at the storm and duress
of Wall Street's market
covering a secret address
of a banking mathematician
who made a million
while discovering
his wife is fainting
playing whist
with a former Tory
who turned at election
into a predatory Labor politician
and covering for her digression
wrapped in a curly bayonet
(so the story goes)
of a lover's cursory tryst.