I'll get back to the thing where I post with substance in between Friday Poetries soon, I promise. But I'm en route to NYC, about to leave work for the aeroport, so this is not primo posting time.
James Tate
Little Poem with Argyle Socks
Behind every great man,
there sits a rat.
And behind every great rat,
there's a flea.
Beside the flea there is an encyclopedia.
Every now and then the flea sneezes, looks up,
and flies into action, reorganizing history.
The rat says, "God, I hate irony."
To which the great man replies:
"Now now now, darling, drink your tea."
No comments:
Post a Comment