Envy the Dutiful
with a nod to Dana Gioia

Envy the dutiful,
the dogs, the wallflowers,
the prom non-attendees
home at all hours.

Envy the waterboys,
the dweebs and the techies,
the Poindexters born
predestined for wedgies.

The nerds and nerdettes,
the gawky, the scrubs
liked as “just friends,”
the terminal schlubs.

Envy the bookworms,
unhip, ungainly,
the late-blooming Venus
now sought insanely.

Envy the duds
who’ve bided their time.
Envy the day
their stock starts to climb.

—J.D. Smith

Night Sky

I live on the Moon in a comfortable house,
I sleep in a comfortable bed.
But one thing I never find comfy one bit
Is a cow jumping over my head.

The Moon is the cheerfulest place you could live,
And the friendliest place you could visit.
But mooing and swooping a path through our sky
Every night isn’t courteous, is it?

I totally get it—the party got wild,
The spoon and the dish ran away.
Natural enough that a frisky young calf
Should be up for a new way to play.

But let’s all agree it’s gone on long enough—
Night after night the same leap,
The same horns and hooves flying by overhead,
Disturbing a Moon-dweller’s sleep.

If the cow wants to jump now and then, that’s OK,
Every creature deserves a good lark.
But spare us some nights with our sky undisturbed,
Just earthglow, the stars and the dark.

So, please, if your family has a pet cow,
Or you plan to acquire one soon,
No matter what else you may train it to do,
Teach it not to jump over the Moon.

—Chris O’Carroll

Envy the Dutiful
with a nod to Dana Gioia

Envy the dutiful,
the dogs, the wallflowers,
the prom non-attendees
home at all hours.

Envy the waterboys,
the dweebs and the techies,
the Poindexters born
predestined for wedgies.

The nerds and nerdettes,
the gawky, the scrubs
liked as “just friends,”
the terminal schlubs.

Envy the bookworms,
unhip, ungainly,
the late-blooming Venus
now sought insanely.

Envy the duds
who’ve bided their time.
Envy the day
their stock starts to climb.

—J.D. Smith

People Who Say Yada Yada Yada Should Go to Yaddo Yaddo Yaddo

When I was but a lad O
By the track at Saratoga
Where the Travers is in vogue O
In the shadow of old Yaddo

I went a little mad O
In the movement known as Dada
Writing nada nada nada
In the shadow of old Yaddo.

Till an artist said egad no!
Worse than yada yada yada‘s
Writing nada, nada, nada
In the shadow of old Yaddo.

In the end it wasn’t bad, au
Contraire, I trust in God a
Man can write an awful lotta
Words at Yaddo Yaddo Yaddo.

—Fred Yannantuono

Clothes Make the Musician

Protégée, dear,
skip the brassiere
and bare your shoulders, toes.
Now hold that deafening pose

and have no fear:
Critics won’t hear
the burblings and mutterings
your bow makes on the naked strings.

—Claudia Gary

Envy the Dutiful
with a nod to Dana Gioia

Envy the dutiful,
the dogs, the wallflowers,
the prom non-attendees
home at all hours.

Envy the waterboys,
the dweebs and the techies,
the Poindexters born
predestined for wedgies.

The nerds and nerdettes,
the gawky, the scrubs
liked as “just friends,”
the terminal schlubs.

Envy the bookworms,
unhip, ungainly,
the late-blooming Venus
now sought insanely.

Envy the duds
who’ve bided their time.
Envy the day
their stock starts to climb.

—J.D. Smith

Uncut

“This movie stands stubbornly alone…”
A.O. Scott, reviewing Terrence Malick’s “The Tree of Life”

A sapling, reaching up, ambitiously
Obscures the Clearview Cinema’s marquee
And ripples green across the title’s rubric.
There’s something there by Hitchcock. Or by Kubrick?
With pink or scarlet flowers it might pose a
Problem, but it’s locust, not mimosa.
Enough is visible for us to see
That we would rather stand and watch the tree.

—Meredith Bergmann

A Fog of Blurbs

Their plumage is a sheen of words whose meanings are the same—
ubiquitous, too often heard, obnoxious birds, but tame,
their mewling call is pecks of praise without one speck of blame.

The truth goes out the window when the blurbs fly into town:
a mist of joyous tidings, thought essential to renown,
their beaks grow long and longer and are uniformly brown.

–Ed Shacklee

Marshal Tito

Marshal Josip Broz Tito’s
Dislike of mosquitoes
Was mostly because they disturb ya
Throughout Montenegro and Serbia.

–Dennis Callegari

Marshal Tito

Marshal Josip Broz Tito’s
Dislike of mosquitoes
Was mostly because they disturb ya
Throughout Montenegro and Serbia.

–Dennis Callegari

Strictures at an Exhibition
pace Mussorgsky

Don’t touch,
Don’t crowd,
Don’t talk too loud,
Don’t push,
Don’t stall,
Don’t hug the wall,
Don’t gawk,
Don’t mope,
Don’t grasp the rope,
Don’t rush,
Don’t glare,
Don’t stop and stare,
Don’t blurt,
Don’t whine,
Don’t break the line,
Don’t slurp,
Don’t chew,
Don’t block the view,
Don’t drift,
Don’t nap,
Don’t take a snap—
All clear?
Then start.
Enjoy the art!

—Dan Campion

Un Bel Di

Butterflies and moths remember their lives as caterpillars. —Harper’s

I well remember having all those feet.
I learned to walk at quite an early age.
Just one before the other; it was neat.
The trick was not to think; they would engage.

Oh life was lovely, lazy, eating leaves.
Avoiding, if one could, the birds above.
Sometimes a friend was snatched (one weeps, one grieves)
But new ones would appear and, with them, love.

That’s when I met the lissome, furry Katie
And fantasized our legs all wrapped together.
When I grew up I knew she’d be my matey,
Our legs entwined in caterpillar weather.

But she grew up to be a butterfly
And sad to tell you, readers, so did I.

—Edmund Conti

Call Waiting
Seven million cell phones fall into toilets every year.
—news item

It will not text, it will not ring,
A wet phone won’t do anything
but give you shocks and clog the plumbing
and make you hope no guests are coming.

It does not answer Nature’s call.
Go get another at the mall.

—Joyce La Mers

Job Proposal for Gavra, Aged Seven, Who Has Been Given a 452-Page Science Almanac

Today, while going to the shops, you told
your dad and me about the tapeworm’s cycle,
how each untested pork chop means survival.
Thrilled to teach, you would not be controlled.
We got the full McCoy: you had the feeding
habits down, the scolex seeking tenure
in the gut’s sweet, fleshy, floral pasture,
the weight loss, faintness and suspicious bleeding.
Next time we’re in a room of lurching bores
discussing stocks or some upcoming show
or what’s gone floating through their private lives,
I’ll pay you fifty bucks for three whole hours
to tell the buggers everything you know
(plus bonus, when the final person leaves).

—Alexandra Oliver