you've tightly sealed over the years
in the cupboard. You're no mother
Hubbard. And the shelves are filled
with the ranks of all men,

like a chessboard with the king
covered in all his henchmen. It's time
for some spring cleaning. The years
have new meaning. You've sat

with them as a mother hen
on her eggs. Now I beg you to
throw them out the window, as food
for the crows. Dust the shelves of the

cracked shells. Air out the smell
making you sick. Light the candle and burn
down the wick. This is a new year, baby!
Wear the suit and tie, sans the lady.