With lineages biblical, and site of
Photoshoots for the model who was not
To be, who would not be here with my
Family to hear the tale of Glover's
Regiment by the town's remaining drunk,
How they came by mist at night upon Long
Island, where the redcoats dined on clams
And red-tide arrogance.
There were ducks, too,
Inexplicable at zero degrees,
And the lady of Redd's Pond held forth most
Icebreakingly, about her cookies, mostly,
How they fooled the shoe cobbler's children
Into thinking that she wasn't a witch.
Those who are no longer here -- were there,
And there was a place I remembered, that
Never went away. They call it history
This feeble try to separate tides from blood.
