Saturday, January 24, 2015


Hearty Hardy

Which one of us thought it a
joke?  Perhaps the both of us.

          All bad poetry springs from genuine feeling.
                                                               —Oscar Wilde

I might as well throw that in,
like a bad bag of potato chips
or a stack of clean towels lying

still (still lying) (still lying, are
you?) in the bedroom after
last week’s wash... [lucky] years after
kneeling at his smooch-
besotted gravestone (more
like a monument, actually)....

Where were we anyway?
(Where was I, do I mean?)
Oh.  On Harrison Street.

But none of us were gig-
gling.  Neither of us were
giggling.  But a toothless

smile spread clean across
your beautiful bescpectacled
Face it, Del, you’re a hoax

hidden within a petty
theft.  Within a lie you
don’t even believe to belie,

to be a lie.

P.S.  All winks go to heaven.  

        {Wink! Wink!}