C o n f ormity caught here, nobody catches it,
L a w ns groomed in prose, with hardly a stutter.
L l o y d hits the ball, and Lorraine fetches it.
M o m hangs the laundry, Fred, Jr., watches it,
S h i r ts in the cliched air, all aflutter.
C o n f ormity caught here, nobody catches it.
A d o g drops a bone, another dog snatches it.
I d r e amed of this life once, Now I shudder
A s L l o yd hits the ball and Lorraine fetches it.
A d o l drum of leaky roofs, a roofer who patches it,
L l o y d prowls the streets, still clutching his putter.
C o n f ormity caught here, nobody catches it.
T h e tediumed rake, the retiree who matches it,
T h e fall air gone dead with the pure drone of motors
W h i l e Lloyd hits the ball, and Lorraine just fetches it.
T h e door is ajar, then somebody latches it.
T h r o ugh the hissing of barbecues poets mutter
O f conformity caught here, where nobody catches it.
L l o y d hits the ball. And damned Lorraine fetches it.