I'll Give You Up Now

I'll give you up now. What I will not do
Is contemplate the years without your touch,
A kiss each morning, and the way you'd clutch
My shoulders as we moved. We had no clue
It would be over now, although we knew
It couldn't last; but hindsight is a crutch
I won't rely on: it explains too much.
"Your eyes are blue," you laughed. Your eyes were blue.

I don't need you to tell me something's wrong:
I waited for the last years to unfold,
The great adventure of us growing old
But with that fire intact. Your heart was strong,
Alive with flame. Some treasures don't last long.
You're cold now, all that fire gone. So I'm cold.

Ah, Boston

I haven't been to Boston since the year
Yastrzemski, bless him, won the triple crown.
My welcome there, gentle as eiderdown,
Inviting as an Elvis Presley sneer,
Has always seemed to call me back: "Come here,
Sweet traveller, returning to the Town
In your own yearning heart!" I smile, I frown,
I laugh, I cry; Sam Adams, both a beer

And Governor of Massachusetts once,
A solid citizen, a well-known pest,
A difficult but fascinating guest,
A flower in repose, a hardy dunce,
The brash exemplar, for a bit of bunce,
Of freedom. I'll go back. That would be best.

My Tropical Great Aunts

Great Aunt Laura was as sweet as honey,
But she lived with her distracting sisters:
Cora first, then Nora, like two twisters,
Both destructive, though discreet and sunny.
Nora called her Haitian boyfriend "Bunny";
Cora stole his hat and gave him blisters.
Laura soothed him, saying, "All that glisters
Isn't gold," but then she grabbed his money.

Haiti couldn't keep them any longer:
Great Aunts Nora, Cora, and sweet Laura
Shipped their household goods to Bora Bora,
Sucked on limes, and sometimes something stronger.
Breadfruit from the local costermonger
Still reminds them of a white fedora.