To: That Man in That Moon ...

To: That Man
in That Moon
Re: A Critic's Salute

---

I must confess
this was,
uncommonly indeed,
a joy to write
and post.

and

if to be joyful
be an indulgence,

a blasphemy,
a sin of greed,
a sort of sin

of

emotional, good-
feelin’ gluttony,

and

so terribly
selfish
after all,

then
here,

right here,

I have
sinned
greatly;

a shameful
thing, really.
                        ---barbsdad
---

That --

That be --
That there be a riot.

Of funny.

Thank you so much
too much.

For such.
And such. And all so.

---

The zinger at the end. Yup, yup,
you got it.

Yup,
that one:
beautiful.

And how! Oh, wow! so how!

Drove the knife in
so slippin' smooth, hardly felt it. But,
oh, the laugh was worth it.

Every bit.

---

And by the way, I don’t
take it personal. Of course not.

You’re not singlin' me out for death like everyone
else be so lookin' forward to. I know that. Of course
I know that.

Of course.

If I were a really,
really fine writer (hah!)---

or
heaven forsake, a natural-born
balded beauty---
 
it'd be downright usual
I’d take offense. But, no,
my aspirations contain themselves
to rightly trimmed.

---

Though, I must confess,
to save money---

mine, that is, what little
there be of it---

the trimmin’s accomplished by
barber students, you know,
at present.

In fact, if Salvation Army’d have such barbs on staff
at the thrift store, I’d go there for it instead.
I’d bring along my own shears and demand
a senior’s effin' discount.

A good bargain can make life,
such as it is, worth its livin'.

Sometimes.

---

Just now I’ll retire to my “study,” where
with the one hand I’ll put the pressure
to the gut wound,

and

with another try to scribble a somethin'
passin' for a poem. For future post,
that is. Providin' I live that long.

Providin'.