Untitled
This is in free verse and I mean to state that always the cambembert is stale
It once was the finest of cheeses, now I'm afraid it's growing fur
Forgive me, Lydia, I forgot to throw it out, the same way I forgot
To empty out my cloest, the strangest things reside in there
Raccoons, three bottles of Windex, and a plaster-Paris bust of Liberace.
Painted pink, perchance - a most becoming colour it is
Last night I came across an open container of Cheez Whiz.
It greeted me most kindly, although I knew not how to respond
The Windex also muttered something at me, or did I imagine that?
Liberace was mute, that sly delicate fellow
He was immaculately accessorized, per usual.
Golden chains and thirteen rolex watches
Forgive me, Lydia, how often have we warbled together, crouched behind the sofa
It's safe and dark back there, an island of comfort in this world
Lydia, what did you do with my Ferrante & Teischer albums?
I miss them greatly, and now have nothing to server dinner on
Speaking of dinner, Taco Bell has three new kinds of burritos we could try
Although the sauce would likely spoil the records
Never mind, my darling, I have some CDs I'm not particularly fond of
They make perfect little plates, if you ignore the holes
Or we could use them as Frisbies when we play with the neighbor's ferret.
Be careful not to sharpen the edges too much of course
Lydia, my Lydia, your hair is the color of Cheez Whiz.
I'm afraid this must cease at once
| Contributors: | Francine, Nym, Karin, Nym (I'll fix this line), Anon.. |
| Poem finished: | 19th July 2003. |