POETICJUSTICE
Net: We have called, and you have answered. Thank you for the original poetry — we hope to be putting out an anthology in the near future for freshman comp classes, so get your submissions in quick. And have a nice day.
From The Captain: Here’s my attempt at poetry. I’m sure this will make for better newsprint than folks complaining that we should all recognize what an evil alcohol is. Net: You read your audience well, Captain, but as of yet, our readers from the Temperance Union haven’t responded. We’ll wait and see what happens. But now, on to your poem …
“Detitled”
Some drink whiskey, some drink beer.
They’re the ones we all should fear.
The sinners get smashed on the devil’s brew,
Then jump in the car to search for what’s new.
The dangers come in that way or others,
Groping our sisters or punching our brothers.
I’d never say that I’m without fault,
And I’d never call for boozing to halt.
It’s replies like these one can foresee,
Commanding all drunks to “Sobriety!”
I thought Deau’s poem was mighty fine fun.
Oh way — just wait — I’m not quite done.
I’m just trying this rhyme of sorts
To get it all published before more zealous retorts.
You can judge if it’s good, or if it just stunk.
It’s the best I can do when I’m so damn drunk.
Net: Bravo, Captain. It’s so important that poetry is not simply for aesthetic pleasure — it can have a message, too. Ginsburg, Plath, Bono (both U2’s and Sonny) all understood this. It’s good to have another bard in our midst. Here’s our other selection. …
From The Dirty Old Man: Thank you for your support, Network.
“Tailgaters”
Ya know, I just can’t figure it out,
Why tailgating drivers just can’t go around. Net: We’re sensing some semi-free verse coming on here.
Other lanes are open, and it would be easy to pass
But these brain-dead drivers would rather crawl up my tailpipe.
Net: Brilliant flouting of poetic conventions!
I stay in the slow lane, the very far right.
Don’t want to argue, or get in a fight.
I d be more forgiving if they were about to exit,
But they stay right behind me — are their heads empty?
I fantasize sometimes, to buy an old Chevy.
When they get too close, I’ll brake really “heavy.”
I’d get one all beat up, with big dents and rust,
So I don’t give a damn if it happens to bust.
It won’t really matter if it barely runs,
Steel spikes for a rear bumper to make it more fun.
Net: Not since “Howl” have we experienced such rage in verse. Keep it coming, folks. Hasta …
