Plinky asks: You’re a fly on the wall at your own funeral. What are people saying about you?
I answer: How the fuck did that fly get in here?
15 Thursday Jul 2010
Plinky asks: You’re a fly on the wall at your own funeral. What are people saying about you?
I answer: How the fuck did that fly get in here?
15 Thursday Jul 2010
Tags
assholes, atlantic city, beach, blank verse, commute, iambic, new york, pentameter, shorpy, swimsuits, vintage
Here’s a public domain photo recently highlighted on Shorpy, one of my favorite blogs:
And here is my poem about it, in something very similar to, if not precisely, unrhymed iambic pentameter.
Ahem.
These assholes lived a hundred years ago
in Jersey. These assholes are the asshole great-
great-grandparents (maybe just great) of the assholes
who almost run me down on foot each day,
their right to catch the goddam train more urgent
than mine to any part of the sidewalk between
Penn Station and themselves. Whatever. These
are the commuter great-great-great-great grandparents
of the commuter assholes who live in Jersey and the Outer
Buroughs and the Isle of Long today. Let’s
look at these dead assholes. These fucking assholes.
Ahem.
Thank you.
15 Thursday Jul 2010
Posted in pictorial