Allusions of Grandeur

by Wade Christian

I saw my friend Poem last night.
Like the Sphinx's three-legged man,
he couldn't stand on his own.
As the door was thrust open
I caught sight of Poem and his friend Terrence;
both were drunk, as usual.

''I am struck with a mortal blow,''
Poem cried as he tipsily tripped through the door,
hitting the floor in an onomatopoeic cacophony.
As a waitress helped him off the floor
the soused verse slurred, ''We just saw Walt Whitman
in a California supermarket . . .''

Terrence, close in tow, continued the tale to the disinterested woman,
''After Walt finished poking the meat,
we three shared a cask of Amontillado.
Then, WW, that old dandy,
went to examine some leaves of grass,
but Poem and I continued the odyssey.''

The now safely seated Poem retook the reins,
as Terrence was blowing the foamy head off his ale.
''We've crossed wastelands filled with hollow men,
and were lectured by some old sailor about an albatross
just to be here, and in the morning we leave for Canterbury!''
Poem bellowed, leering at the Cambridge ladies two tables away.

The plowed pair then proceeded
to justify the ways of God
to any man who would listen to them.
The Balloon Man, who had been politely whistling
until now, had taken enough, and threw the duo out the door
sending them flying far and wee.

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