King of the Night, he is. He doesn’t like you.
He doesn’t like your backstory. Your charm,
Like Bottom’s bottom, isn’t something special.
The mists of midnight blow away. You stand
In the Aisle of Target, looking for your shoes
On shelves of mouthwash, rodent spray, and cans
Of 3-in-1. King of the Night, he says,
“Wet cleanup on Aisle 7, where the lute
And zither sale has just concluded. Please
Exit the store, and, listen, don’t come back.”