The Call of the 52-Hertz Whale

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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

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