Spoofing that poetic form of John Ciardi
used for his “A Trenta-Sei of the Pleasure We Take in
 |
| “Still Life With Skull, Leeks, and Pitcher, March 14, 1945” by Pablo Picasso |
thinking about his death. A treat
it would be—(the species-truth? We are glad
to have a death to munch on.)
to wake some morning soon to a Tweet
reporting his demise. Why, oh why
am I so moved to pray he will die?
Thinking about his death is a treat
I allow myself. To be spared the bother of hearing,
day after day, his merely bitter, never sweet,
falsehoods, fabrications; watch his sneering
and his huff and puff, huff and puff
would constitute, for me, a quite-enough.
Re: Ciardi’s “species-truth”—yes, we are glad
to have a death to munch on. But truth to tell,
I’d forgo the munching; is snarfing up too-too very bad?
When it comes to lying, this unnamed guy does it well,
and his performances, so brash, his smear and jeer
deserve no curtain calls, despite the fools who stand and cheer.
To wake some morning soon to a Tweet
reporting death, underscoring had he lived, my own remaining time
could be not merely dull but dreadful… how Sweet!
O beautiful, the death of one whose power-grubbing lifetime’s
gone. And gone would be, ungenerosity, extravagance, and full-
blown pretense, double-crossing, treachery, cock-and-bull!
