Sergeant Pepper, we called him
a man whose options had closed and opened
like the elusive blinking lights
in a mid-summer field of fireflies
and reeling after glimmer
left him here with pepper can in hand.
No more pepper!
we said in a line.
All he saw was a line
of straight white beautiful teeth
still awash in milk.
We watched for signs that he could hear -
a change in peppering was just one.
But none came:
he peppered the same
limped the same
sought out prostitutes the same.
And we still washed his burning offerings down
with gallons of milk
and wished as least for his vengeance.