Thursday, August 26, 2010
Though classic Greek and Latin
May be tongues of yesteryear,
Corruption of the ancient forms
Still grates upon my ear.
The rules have slowly faded
Like some old Pompeiian mural.
But “kudos” is the singular,
While “media” is plural!
One night when I was feeling fine,
Perhaps a little odd,
I put on ABBA’s greatest hits
And heard the voice of God.
I ate a pound of curly fries,
Three microwave burritos,
A box of Frankenberry
And a jumbo bag of Cheetos.
I think I did some smooching
With my roommate’s beagle mix.
Which is why I haven’t smoked a joint
Since 1986.
I’m not the most religious sort.
From church I’ve held aloof.
Where others trust in providence,
I kind of want some proof.
As yet I’ve never been reborn,
Though some may think it sad.
So if you tell me, “Eat, pray, love,”
Well, two of three ain’t bad!
I’d like to be a connoisseur,
a brilliant oenophile.
I’d describe a wine as “buttery,”
“robust” or “versatile.”
I’d know merlot from cabernet,
Critique the finest chardonnay,
Surpass a seasoned sommelier
in expertise and style!
I’d know what’s meant by “jammy”
and which Riesling really rocks.
I’d suggest the perfect complement
for lobster, steak or lox.
I’d chew the wine with utmost flair,
Detecting notes of plum and [...]
I once would hike the Rockies
and would shun the beaten track.
I would scale the peaks with sixty pounds
upon my youthful back.
But now I’ve passed two score and ten,
I’ve toned it down a bit.
Yet still I have my way of keeping
minimally fit.
I simply cover half the ground
And haul my massive ass around.
I can’t keep up with current shows.
(It’s had a social cost).
If I watched the big finale,
I’d be absolutely Lost!
But now that it’s no longer new,
I’ll put it on my Netflix queue.
Though I keep it together in nice, sunny weather,
I’m always a wreck when it rains.
For the leaves that have fallen combined with the pollen
Are constantly clogging the drains.
“It sucks to be me!” I despondently mutter.
A homeowner’s mind’s never out of the gutter!
I’ve dropped a few F-bombs while talking some trash.
I’m a little too free with the s-dash-dash-dash.
I’ve gotten some looks that could burn me to ash
From well-mannered women and men.
I know I’ve offended some sensitive ears
Especially following one or two beers,
But clean up my language? I’ve learned through the years
It’ll only get dirty again!
With diligence, hard work and time
This half-baked rhyme could be sublime.
It might compare with Wordsworth’s best
Or Byron, Keats and all the rest.
Millay and Frost it might surpass
And even kick Walt Whitman’s grass!
With hours of labor (that’s the key)
It might gain immortality!
But I’m a lazy S.O.B.
I’ve studied countless humor styles
In search of comic gold,
For gags that roll them in the aisles
Too often leave me cold.
But here inside this bathroom stall
I’ve come to understand.
I see the writing on the wall.
The joke is in my hand!