A Menu of Loves, By Ray Bradbury

Don’t bother me, for I must take

A cup of William for my sake,

Shakespeare at dawn

Warm toast with Will

Or when the moon glides down the hill

My day un-finished till un-Donne

And all their harvest poems won.

I sit to tiffin with wild Shaw

And glimpse the idiots that he saw.

But most of all dear Emily

Is milkmaid cream and curds to me.

While Pope engenders capered bile;

I’ll sandwich him at noon awhile

Then swim on back to where winter’s lost

But changed to spring by vernal frost.

So night and noon and noon and night

My comrades set the table right

And tilt my mind to round my blood

To circumscribe that neighborhood

Where all is Shelley, Yeats and Keats

A bin of morning-glory treats.

I am not fit for man or beast

Until of these I grub a feast,

And then, fulfilled, start the day

As, urged, they prompt me what to say.

So, quiet, all for I must slake

A cup of William for my sake.

[ 1999 ]