Drive-Through Dulcinea

Had we but world enough and time

I would order in perfect rhyme

The better to compensate for

Every other, mundane bore

Who looks but does not see your light

Who mistakes end for means despite

The obvious fact that you are

As suited to this task as are

The sea’s waves to greeting tourists

Or pastiche to pleasing purists;

An amethyst should not be set

In mud—its home is gold, and yet

Behold, a seraph heavenly

Must offer fries and drinks to me

As mortal as a man can be, am I:

A fallible and foolish guy

As rife with vice and folly as

Any sentient old ape has

The right to be, here before thee

A slave to hunger, while you’re free

Of any defect I can see

By what mysterious decree

Were you burdened with this base task?

Perhaps it’s not my place to ask;

But you seem suited to a throne

Not heeding the tedious drone

Of mundane mammals’ sheepish tone

My blood’s fluvial motion, quick

To your eye’s tidal pull must stick

The moon envies your lovely look

Which, studying the sorry book

Of lost dreams and rusted glory

Of which my face tells a story

Responds with grace aleatory

Supplying the modest repast

And the bright limit; that, we passed

When I recognized in your voice

Music that makes all ears rejoice

You deigned to pretend, goddess true!

Conceding that, for moments few

This grizzled knight might worthy be

To tilt at windmills just for thee

And though we shall strangers remain

My mind will turn to you again

When doubt and pain gather about

Your smile will be my bright redoubt