Forty farty arty asses
Taking “Art and Humor” classes.
We can easily dispense of
Ten of those who have no sense of
Why they’re spending time in class.
Perhaps they hope the time will pass.
Thirty dirty-thinking students
Driving cars with one or two dents
All with New York license plates
(no one comes from other states).
None of them are Trappist Monks.
Three of them are from the Bronx.
Twenty seven, several standing
All of them aloud demanding
Knowledge and some satisfaction
Looking for a little action.
Which brings in play some other factors:
Like, the class has fourteen actors.
Thirteen thirsty knowledge seekers
Most of them in hi-tech sneakers
Fast-lane Yuppies causing sparks
Passing Jeffs and passing Marks,
Easily outclassing Freds
Four of them are wearing Keds.
Nine no-nonsense neophytes
New to Art and its delights
Also new to thoughts of Humor
Each of them a Baby Boomer.
Mostly what they make is money.
Eight don’t think that humor’s funny.
One remaining arty ass
Thirty nine aren’t in his class.
He has a strong artistic bent
A witty and amusing gent
But he (who is the poet) copped out,
Fell between the cracks and dropped out.
Edmund Conti has several long poems to his credit, but to his credit
he prefers writing shorter ones. He is currently working on the Great
American Haiku. He needs two more syllables.