In the parlor of my dotage
I have a grand piano where
the ghost of Shostakovich
plays “Chopsticks” every night
while I in my recliner
drink vodka in pajamas
and cheer old Shosty on.
Tonight the concert’s interrupted
when Granny in her nightcap
dashes from her bedroom
and shouts in high soprano
“Send old Shosty home.
I need a good night’s sleep.
I have Mahjong in the morning.”
Through my bullhorn I shout back,
“I won’t send old Shosty anywhere
until his concert ends at dawn.
Then I’ll put my parka on and saddle up
the horses and take the master home.
Old Shosty swears that global warming
is no problem there at all.”