How to rest on one's laurels?
Lie down gently, carefully, not disturbing 
Leaves painstakingly crafted long ago?
Stare lovingly into one's past, enamored,
About as useful as Lot's wife leaving Sodom? Or,
Drop this poem onto them as one
Eagerly pushes a new lover onto covers
Which right now don't mean a damn thing?

Poem 4/100