Eleven Lines, I’ll Wait

Bob Dylan insists on a background
of staying, rolling, and electricity
as progeny wail background yayaya
and guilt turns my head back and 
forth between the screen and my 
coffee. Do not feel, I feel. Emotions 
and thoughts are knowledgeable 
colonial colonels, ringing their 
bells for metaphor twinning, beds
of artifice laid low by wet straw fires,
retirements that cannot return to work.