BurgerBarn Waitstaff All Mic'd Up
Panama Hattie: "...all-beef patty..." Attila the Hun: "...sesame bun..."
Brat Farrar: "...fixin's bar..." Damon Runyon: "...slice of onion..."
Peter DeVries: "...feta cheese..." Travis Bickle: "...kosher pickle..."
Attic Plato: "...fresh tomato..." Bridget Pettis: "...extra lettuce..."
Jackson's Bustard: "...ketchup, mustard..." Tondelayo: "...hold the mayo..."
Yootha Joyce: "...lo-cal choice..." Orville Wright: "...Diet Sprite..."
Chow Yun-fat: "...fries wi' that...?" R. van Rijn: "...next in line...!"
* * * * *
Ming the Ministerial; or, Flash 'n' the Pan
The populace on Mongo kneels
before their great god Tao.*
This Gott, lots more than pongo, feels
a jotlet less than Deo.
They seethe beneath his icon --
as below a golden calf --
on state occasions, like on
Ming's unbirthdays. (Don't dare laugh!)
* Cf the video imagery running behind
the opening credits of the 1936 Flash Gordon
movie serial "Space Soldiers."
* * * * *
Triobio (Me-oh, My-oh!)
Known as Po(e)...? Know-alls know at least three.
There be Uly and Edgar and Li.
Li's a poetry maven.
Ed quoted a raven.
And Uly goes...hold it! That's me!
* * * * *
Limerlike
At 9123 Sudbury Road
dwelt a sister of sinister mode.
She borrow'd a bread pan
for use as a bed pan
whence further anomalies flow'd.
"Now my shins, once as thin as a cable,
mimic legs on my dining room table.
In addition to that,
my left foot's gone flat.
This twin case leaves my stasis unstable."
In that selfsame eccentric abode
(20901 area code),
she's transplanted five trees,
an arboreal tease
her maniacal neighbor to goad.
"Tell me, what's," asks she, "happ'ning to me...?
Sev'ral syptoms...? Three hundred 'n' three!
I've Lou Gehrig's Disease,
mal de mer...even fleas.
I am lacking just one: housemaid's knee."
*Cf. Jerome K. Jerome's Three Men in a Boat.
After oxygen's clock'd through a hose
on its way to this ladywife's nose,
it assails us with sound
like a whale run aground
on a beach -- or when, breaching, it blows.
* * * * *
Not E (But Nice)
This too must pass, inev'tably,
however uneventfully:
one learns to dwell,
so prophets tell,
within half-hell,
half-heaven,
that mock-apocalyptic blend
whose bangfree-whimper'd song shall end
not as foreseen -- in E, I mean --
not slyly in
nor shyly in*
but wryly in
B7.
*Some mss show "not spryly in
nor dryly in" here, but all are late.
* * * * *
Choc/O Holic
Mini Mounds 'n' mandarins,
haute chocolate/orange mix.
Mandarins 'n' Mini Mounds:
Alors, who'll score my fix...?
* * * * *
B?RD Doggerel
('Borrow'ed interest...? 'Bardot'd interest...? You decide!)
I
Once, everybody'd heard --
they'd heard about the bird.
"Bird...bird...bird..."
Then, bird were but a word.
But Bil 'n' Cora Baird
their love of puppets shared.
"Baird...Baird...Baird..."
(With Burr Bil's been compared.)
A line applaudin' Larry...?
Not one reader need be wary.
A line extolin' Dan...?
If one can't, some others can.
II
Shakespeare, dubb'd "The Bard,"
no player'd disregard.
"Bard...bard...bard..."
What a calculatin' card!
Her bod Godiva bared;
except for Tom, none stared.
"Bared...bared...bared..."
Deeds daft that lady dared.
A verse to push a college...?
Not so -- to my best knowledge.
A reference to fangs...?
'Bared' hints of no such thangs.
III
Chagall...? Too avant-garde
so's, thus, by Nazis barr'd.
"Barr'd...barr'd...barr'd..."
For Marc, haute art proved hard.
Rustin, christen'd Bayard,
in discrimination mired,
refused to date a beard,
though gays were then thought weird.
"Bayard...Bayard...Bayard..."
No off-spring Rustin sired.
Does 'garde', in French, mean 'guard'...?
Who'd posit that canard...?
Be this Tim Burton's hound
unshackl'd from the pound...?
IV
Confed'rate Beauregard
had left Fort Sumpter charr'd --
each plank (in Dutch, each berd)
bescorch'd -- if that's the word.
"Berd...berd...berd..."
Transparency grew blurr'd
as all, save one, demurr'd,
"Were bird still but a word...?"
Though 'berd' may rhyme with 'bird,'
as such it's rarely heard...
...and, even then, a word
known only to a nerd.
V
"Bird...bird...bird..."
They'd heard how bird's a word
determin'd by a board,
not some benighted horde
caught crawlin' 'bout a bord
near coal veins newly bored.
"Board...bord...bored..."
This homonymnal chord
leaves verbal senses floor'd
by sonancies untoward.
"Bord...bord...bord..."
Some ward where coal dust's stored...?
"Board...bord...bored..."
Some verbal hat trick scored...?
VI
Ettore Boyardee
was born in Italy.
"Boy-...ar-...dee..."
(Sounds Anglicized to me.)
But Beale's (no lad call'd Brad
nor citizen of Chad)
an east Missouri lad --
St. Louis, we should add.
"Brad...Brad...Brad..."
For nailin'...? Not too bad.
Boy oh boy! R.D....?
Development and Re-!
Paisley...Parscale...Pitt...?
Be that the last of it...?
VII
In school, each little maid
the raven hair should braid.
"Braid...braid...braid..."
This Savoyard brigade,
inscrutable and staid,
delights in their parade.
"Beard," somebody said,
"be boffo bakin' bread...
...bread...bread...bread..."
(Jim shoulda cook'd instead.)
Bread in wreaths 'n' twists
top beaucoup bakers' lists.
Their challah's braided bread
keeps hungry Hebrews fed.
VIII
Our southern states' inbred
leave masses MAGA-red.
They stink of thinkin' dead
(its odor's from the head).
"Bred...bred...bred..."
Yet dare I on 'em tread...?
They are a far-right breed
in thrall to racist creed
who drawl their hate-honed screed
while bawling, "Let's secede!"
"Breed...breed...breed..."
Who's smokin' locoweed...?
I fear before we're freed,
a lot of us shall bleed.
'Bred,' of course, ain't 'Bret.'
Of Brets there's plenty yet.
You know no Michael Breed,
nor should you feel the need.
IX
"Bird...bird...bird..."
'Twere but a word...? Absurd!
Though feather'd -- rarely furr'd --
by doubt it's undeterr'd.
But then, his Bartered Bride
Bedrich the Czech had tried.
[A code for caron'd r
we've research'd wide 'n' far.]
"Bride...bride...bride..."
She runs but cannot hide.
Though oft a silly broad,
by her, monsieur, we're awed.
"Broad...broad...broad..."
She's ne'er defamed a fraud,
and, though her frame's unflaw'd,
this beauty's no man's bawd.
Ms. Bridey, surnamed Murphy,
claim'd pre-existence turfy...
...a broad pre-born abroad.
(Her doctors mock'd her: "Odd!")
(Her doctors mock'd her: "Odd!")
X
Kafka's buddy, Brod,
with Franz's sabots shod,
in Franz's footsteps trod --
for miles 'n' miles, by God!
"Brod...Brod...Brod..."
Like bruders in one pod,
to Franz he's staff 'n' rod.
Franz owed this bro a wad.
But birds be prone to brood.
They brood above their brood,
though soon enough conclude,
"We're just not in the mood."
"Brood...brood...brood..."
Though 'brood' can rhyme with 'brew'd,'
so many brews prove duds.
They're not for me, those Buds!
But Brod forebodes not Bader:
famed RBG broke later...
...while tough guy Brod'rick Crawford
predicts not Peter Lawford.
XI
Famous folk named Burd...?
Men, to a man -- no bird.
"Burd...Burd...Burd..."
There's Nick, there's George. A third...?
There's Ed. Plus Walt. And James...
...but now I'm out of names.
Sev'ral Burds were married,
and most, by now, be buried.
"Buried...buried...buried..."
The meter here's unvaried.
One Burd I knew were Andy:
a man with banjos handy.
He's buried now as well,
though where we dare not tell.
XII
Adm'ral Richard Byrd,
to districts frigid lured,
chill'd congelations tour'd.
(Of spunk he'd not be cured.)
"Byrd...Byrd...Byrd..."
It sounds a lot like bird
which is, as now we've heard
fa-a-a-ar more than just a word.
First shakin,' now we're stirr'd,
towards Wisdom's bower spurr'd...
...so like the bowerbird...
...bird...bird...bird...
Addendum (B?RD Seed)
Bard Bardot Baird Bayard
Bared Berd Beauregard Beard
Bedrich Bird Bord Bored Board
Borrow'd Boy-ar-dee Boyd Burd
Buried Byrd Brad Braid Bread
Bred Breed Bride Broad Brod
Broil'd Brood Bruder
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