remain calm

Sang-froid

Precisely at six I will don a crisp

Oxford button down shirt tails tucked yellow

or blue small white pills ascending single

file assuming key positions at the

apex of collar points-on the remote

Chilean reaches of distant banded

cuffs gaping mouths spilling out across a

delta of well-worn knees splayed fingers still

as egrets awaiting absolution

in a lapping estuary alight

suddenly with the first savage piercings

of dawn pinning me in this straight backed chair

where I sit motionless bled dry waiting

on nightfall my ever faithful silent

valet who neatly hangs my shirt without

a word about all those seared round holes.