"Does schmutz attack your shoulder, Mac?
Sit fallen angels there?
Does state responsibility
rest heav-...or do I err?
You've borne, perhaps, a chip? Or straps
from golf club bags which tear?
(Your coif's a jock's: no trims, no locks --
no bigly leader's hair.)
Brigitte vo' cher's been there, mon frere?
What's that, then? Laissez-faire?
(If dwarflings pose upon those shoulders,
that ain't my affair.)
They tell me that you're perfect,
and that my job's to take care
you stay that way. So, for today:
no dandruff may you wear."
Poet Poe pens nonsense verse. "Plus...phun," puns Uly, "I disburse." Its gamut runs from spam to worse. The po'sy posted...? Poe's diverse -- most, postcards from his universe, replies to grudges he must nurse. My summary...? Let me be terse: a mitzva, mostly. (Not a curse.)
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Composed and illustrated in 2019, each verse of poetaster Ulysses ("Uly") Poe's illuminated nonsense lyric "What A's ...
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