Valentines Day 1916 Poem by Oliver Ovid

Halfway through the pane of glass,
still making gaslight eyes at Maud
Gonne,
a leer crawled across your face.
William Butler Yeats looked like he
was going to cream your skinny
ass,
and you were glad Einstein was right
about the Time-Space continuum
because now you can bust a beer
bottle
over Bill's noggin. The pub became pell-mell,
time slowing down like sap inside a frosty
maple.
It was 1916 like it's always been 1916
with shattering glass twinkled against
street lamps, Maude's jacket slightly
rimpled.
I guess most times you'll land over there
with the dandelions stuck in a cracked
sidewalk trying to tickle your bloody
nose.