The Turnip Plantation

Another wheelchair, another set of crutches
to the funny farm --- them whose own names
they have forgotten,

forgotten likewise to whom they once were married,
in smashed goblets and hot wet kisses
as well as been forgotten the names of sons and daughters
who near bankrupted their parents in wild parties.
Sundry degrees received from UCLA and Ivy colleges,
hardly relevant, wouldn't you say Mr. Madoff?

Adolf Hitler would have cherished you.
Let the survivors eat pound cake, say I.
Let them bathe in balmy Bahamas' waters.

Pharmaceutical Alzheimers be stewed, say I,
like Doctor Jacobs's mother, Sarah,
who dreams in isolation picking turnips

in the former USSR,where still rules a Czar from Georgia
by the name of Josef Stalin. "Hey Stan, call the intern,
I think she's dead."