RAIN AT MY WINDOW

Rain at my window
faces the Hocking print

my light turned off
the sax case opened

for my gig tonight
dawn uplifted by the canary

in the cage
we call Treasure Island

showering to limit myself
to one dorm visit

for my urban read
in a fourth gracious invitation

turned down for ennui
and a Sartre deconstruction

passing out with a lapidary thesis
"On laughter in Nabokov"

written in the fourth form
on "Butterfly" McQueen's part

in "Gone with the Wind"
from critical drama script

written in purple passages
in Greek letters

in my junior year
while my philosophy professor

was on sabbatical
in Quebec

when the erstwhile cheerleader
changed her buttoned down sex

to be a colorful man child
in the application

to Lagos to be chosen
a peace corps operative

while secretly working
for another agency

that promotes harmony
in the Virgin Islands.