clambake

By Christopher Mulrooney

Poem

all the little clams you dig there
dancing on the edge of the pit fall in then
pudding and pie the candlestick from the Met
while you turn up the great big underground switch
am I right over copy that because the whole muse thing
interests you as a rather lowdown carpet-seller’s commentary
on his wares from a legendary source in proverbial hills
you flog the stuff like any
there is all your art