Gilligan’s risen and started anew,
But where can he go and stay out of the news?
He’s hounded and mauled in paying his dues,
He’s touring the country in phosphorous shoes.
Packing them in and taking his cues,
Drowning in cornfields of radiant hues.

Heavens to Betsy she’s gone to the sea,
Thrashing and flailing and sipping her tea,
Hearing the ocean praise Robert E. Lee,
Searching for solace among the debris.

My apple has turned and started a-glow,
The trees have all melted and turned into snow,
Everyone’s age is starting to show,
Please just don’t ask me I don’t really know.

What will they go?
Where will they do?
Crowding the scene
In fashions of you.

(Oklahoma City, July 1991)