These come from a moldy tome I happened to find
in a neighbor’s attic, an appalling
lot of dust having collected on the binding.
There was no signature – with a pencil scrawled in
at the end of the manuscript, only
this clue: “For you, dear author/reader – merely sign!”
No! Three times no! These things I have gathered solely
for the better enjoyment of my wine.
You think I’d be so bold as to think that the world
would regulate its practice through my impostures?
Only if I saw my name gemmed and pearled,
italicized among the great on their rosters.
Drink like a beast, in accordance with Nature’s plan.
My father drank deep and emptied his can.
If it weren’t for the beasts we’d all live like scholars.
[Previous: In Our Own Image]
[Next: The People on the Train]
[Pages in a Second Round homepage]