The glue is cast

I sometimes think that little loaves of bread
Are grated mink or painted green instead
That every purplish blot upon a face
Reflects some railway station sort of place.

And all the fish we used to know and greet
And grill in butter when we used to meet
Are risen again in many fiendish forms
Potato cakes, and things for mowing lawns.

All such days and all such sad devices
We used for turning clocks and skimming mices
Must now and then be checked for sundry bugs
For steering wheels and mind distorting drugs.

For now the past is longer than the present
The glue is cast, the freaks are full of pheasant
And many a shining hope we once endured
Like dust into the vinegar is poured.

And we at last, O we, we happy few
We words and tupperware, so nearly new
O we have heard, and who had heard us here
Sing thrice nice rice, and maybe half a beer!

Greek Ermintrude, sad basket, proper name
Eureka, lamp post, snippet, crawl of fame
Inured, restored, gelatinous creation
Old bus, angora, some debilitation.