ODE TO THE MUMMY:
Oh Mummy, how old art thou
With your golden face
Ever raising your eyebrows
From behind the glassed case
Your mask of cool restraint
Belies your inner torment
As you try through ink and paint
A signal to your master to send
For looking at your new environ'
Concerned you are become
At the lack of order, of clean, and of light
It looks very much like a slum.
But no fear, my Mummy, you are safe
in good hands have you arrived
in Oakland I treat guests well
have some Zinfandel and enjoy the ride.
