Scheherazade

Not the saga of your soul at grips with fate,
bleedingheart, for we have troubles of our own
nor the inside story of the campaign scandal, wiseguy,
for we were there ourselves, or else we have
forgotten it years ago
not all the answers, oracle, to politics and life and love,
you have them but your book is out of date
no, nor why you are not a heel, smooth baby, for that is
a lie, nor why you had to become one, for that
is much too true
nor the neighborhood doings five years ago, rosebud,
nor the ruined childhood, nor the total story
of friendship betrayed
nor how cynical you are, rumpot, and why you
became so

Give us, instead, if you must, something that we can
use, like a telephone number
or something we can understand, like a longshot tip on
tomorrow's card
or something that we have never heard before, like the
legend of Ruth.