Mrs. Dalloway

Are we Woolf's London of walking dreamers,

Impelled by visions of joy and madness,

Or are we instead suburban schemers,

Heads filled with calculation and sadness.

Nowadays Virginia would be on drugs,

In her time we were less accountable,

We're less stiff upper lip, more prone to hugs,

We break down tasks, make them 

            surmountable.

Metcalf Park.  I realize we're in a war,

And also at a glorious party,

My parents dead, casualties galore,

An evening banquet, delicate, hearty.

Long-gone Septimus, Peter, Clarissa,

We toast to you, with wine and harissa.