'Allo, Ollie Dragon!
Buongiorno, Madame O!
What's cookin,' Pookenschlagel…?
(The Colonel you all know.)
Hello dere, Fletcher Rabbit!
Wassup wid’ Cecil Bill…?
How are you, Fran…? ('Tis she to Tillstrom's
Jack supplies good Jill.)
So: how're they hangin', Beulah…?
Whaz 'app'nin,' Herbert Hare…?
(Good golly! Kuklapolitans be
ev'ryfrickin'where!)
They're puppets ante Muppets.
Can they can-can…? Kukla'ns can!
They're not, though small, in thrall at all
to spook Dave Duke and Klan.)
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.)
No comments:
Post a Comment