Why has Gastoldi not sold more balletti?
Who’d buy? Veronica? Jughead? (Not Betty.)
Still, ready or not, here I come.
How many cascades of chill’d
cappelletti,
half-baked by Frank Drake and Carl Sagan
of CETI,got hurl’d by Francesca di Foix’s Donizetti?
(You bled? Where’s the clot on your thumb?)
Why did young Esther, whose nickname is
‘Etty,’
begin to befriend Renee Jeanne
Falconetti?Hey! Was it because of her sub-standard Freddy?
Don’t fret: she could not hear the drum.
Where might a sculptor – let’s say,
Giacometti –
constructing a bust of Maria Goretti,rough-hew Mrs. Wainthropp, that slue foot sleuth Hetty?
Our shed Giaco’d not use...the bum!
How do Italian boys’ words – like ‘indetti’ –
(some few misconstrue ‘em as ‘drench’d in
confetti’)wind up meaning “dinghys you’ll find near the jetty”?
(‘Ka-ret-i’? ‘Ka-rat-I’? Both dumb.)
Who switch’d initials? Did Lester (call’d
‘Ketty’)?
Or was it perhaps Woody’s kid sister
Letty?Each ‘K’ is ambiguous. (‘L’s are already.)
(Go steady…but not wid’ me mum.)
Who unstrings harps with a whetted
machete?
(Gone: proslambanomenos, mese
and nete.)Demolishes “Nola” and “No, No, Nanette,” he.
Fast Eddie! Him! (Not me, in sum.)
How did Ted Hughes, with his used
Olivetti.
misspell the word ‘pretty’ by spelling it
‘petty’?My thought? He’s exhausted his ‘R’s, has our Teddy.
(Ted’s dead: he got shot in a scrum.)
Who’ll perform bass in The Tuba Quartet?
He
who does
is (or was) he who read the
libretti.The man who both can must needs prove rough and ready.
(No bed! Just a cot. He’ll succumb.)
Italian musicians anticipate ‘stretti.’
(Most feel ‘f**k and c**k-s**k are wa-a-a-ay too “Tourette-y”
and set free the rotters and scum.)
Who’s Moses’s step-mother’s bro? Uncle
Seti?
His offspring in Venice propel
Vaporetti.The water by volume displaced stirs an eddy.
And, ready or not, here they come.
Which monk had spare spunk to pen Vision of Wetti?
(No word so absurd there as ‘xebec’ or
‘xetti’ – nor mention, of course, of exotic Arletty,
though, ready or not, here she comes.)
And, lest
we forget: the abom’nable yeti,
who savors his ziti, pronouncing it
‘zeti,’ and, like me, a fan of the odd alphabet, he.
And, ready or not…
But I’m done.
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