The Call of the 52-Hertz Whale

Sometimes I think

That I don’t want to date

I want to be adopted

Like Moses in a basket

Or a moon-eyed dog

In a PETA commercial

Or maybe even one of Madonna’s kids.

I fully acknowledge that this

Is a personal affront 

To my fighting

Brethren

And that I could be drummed out of the corps

On charges of desertion

But I have no choice because 

Full disclosure:

In the middle of the night

Where I embrace pillows

Instead of people

I have begun to 

involuntarily

emit the call of the 52-hertz whale

Which is the only one of its species that

Broadcasts on that high-pitch frequency

Which is why it is known as

the world's loneliest whale.

In the wee small hours that follow

I feel like the late in life Sinatra

Propped up on a bar stool

Croaking a saloon song

Ready to be buried my way, 

with a bottle of Jack Daniel's whiskey, 

a pack of Camel cigarettes, 

a Zippo lighter, 

and a dollar's worth of dimes.

Professional windmill chasing

Which once seemed like

A sensible and potentially lucrative day job

For most of my life

Suddenly feels far less

Satisfying or even important

 than say

Tending 

To the inexhaustible fields of tulips

That all seem to know my name.

As a final request

I would like to order up a woman

From room service

Or Bumble or Tinder,

Who looks really nice

In the parlance of the

Movies of the forties 

Like Greer Garson

To wrap me up tight like FDR 

At a summit

in a

Kind of Blue blanket

Sing me a lilting Gallic

Lullaby

Or maybe an ancient sea shanty

While I am rocked

By the fire

Overfed with generous portions of

love and 

wine 

For service to this country of 

Old men

Who in the end know

That the

Ultimate moment

Of strength comes

When you finally say

I have had enough.Bb