For Roland Burns
The moods of the cantaloupe king are moods
Of the melon king in green variations.
Both entered the orange parlor like nations
Seeking peace from their wintered wars in the woods.
Both entered the parlor to say goodbye
Or farewell or peace or adios, ciao,
Adieu, or tschüß; however the ground
Seals its truce. But the old interpreter just sighed.
The old interpreter would not speak–
And instead sighed those winters like a spout,
Drowning the parlor with what he spat out
Until the parlor broke in half at grief's peak
And the kings could taste as they fell through the snow
Delicioso coco helado.