Nolan Hatcher: Poetry

Crumbly knobs
Nolan Hatcher

Crumbly knobs
      Were greying at the temples,
A red-brick chateau
      Still awaiting them in the suburbs.
O what had they done
      With their allotted time?
What thick shake
      Had they accomplished
In all that time,
      In all that time?
The knobs
      Were now balding,
Their ties beginning
      To sag quite severely.
They looked
      At what neither had done.
Crumbly knobs
      Checked their hair roots
And ancestry
      In the family Bible,
Removing every other
      Moldy pressed flower.
Of course,
      They found what they sought,
But some peculiar
      Shaggy pages surprised them:
The secret of
      Dry ice and eternal life
Manifest
      In a chromed manifold.
Home, they thought,
      In a gush of pastel hearts reaching
            orgasm,
Home,  
      Of course!