You started out working the steamboat—

already so loose,

wearing short rebel trousers

(just a button for each buttock),

shaking your hips oh-so-seductively.

However, I will allow you to excuse yourself because,

your highness,

you were clearly preparing for the flood.

And do you remember, Willie,

before you ever piloted a steamboat,

you wanted to get high

(that was plain crazy to be honest)

up in a plane,

in search of la vie haute?

But now you got your shelter up

high in your castle, exiled mainly because all you

care to do is savor delicious trips and naps

and sway your damn hippie hips all day.

At least you haven’t died yet—love-wise—

for you still have money aplenty in your purse

and your Minnie to fiddle with it,

and—let’s not forget—hordes

of ladies’ purses with your money in it.

(And did you know there’s another male

purse with your Minnie on it?)

One day you won’t be Faithful to Minnie,

you’ll hate her passion,

and suddenly

it’ll be all about mony mony mony—

testimony, alimony, hegemony.

But I’m just joking, you old goat—

eighty-two today and trapped in time still,

for you are a lion, MJM—

you are all Heart for the sake of Heart.