Classic Poem

shrieking like hyenas in
their sexual mirth to the disco
bang of Madonna making her
mint in the sacrilegious from the
sacred. For some, perhaps, a
continuous custom to hang together
whatever sense of family may
be had once the wild oats
have passed into the photograph album:
circa: June, in some tumbled month,
the garden hose spurting champagne
and the neighbour, suspect as
an affair, out of shot.