Dan Campion


A Spouse Divided

His wife and his mistress once met
And deduced who was whose little pet.
They concurred, like one brain,
To cleave him in twain,
As wise as two Solomons get.



Theology, cosmology,
Mutts, ragweed, metaphysics,
Cat dander, demonology,
Accounting, nuts, ballistics—

Whatever I’ve learned irritates,
I’ve got to “list below”?
Well, filling forms out surely rates
First place, if you must know.


The Snead of Light

He marches toward the eighteenth tee,
A three wood in his hand,
And tips his hat with champion’s glee
To each spectator stand;

His teeth glow bright as sun above,
His cleats glint like blue moons,
And all his person gleams with love
For mashies, cleeks, and spoons;

He doesn’t rush a single stroke—
Of pace, he’s peerless master—
To beam, though, at a caddie’s joke,
None on the course is faster;

And time itself stands still for him
When he’s up on the green
Composing putts that never rim
(Were sweeter ever seen?).

Then, when he picks his golf ball up
And strolls inside for drinks,
His fans are left with empty cup,
Surveying darkened links.


Dan Campion has contributed to Light since its first issue and has work forthcoming in Measure.