Fred On Fire: A Christmas Poem
Happy Birthday, Mr. Nazz!
What’s this, number 2,006? or 1,995?
Something like that,
Did you ever think,
In your most delusional moments,
That it would come to this?
Twisted adoration,
Putting words in your mouth,
Turning you into the you
That other people would prefer, and would imagine
To be a wonderful, wonderful you!
The laugh’s on those stoops who think
The whole calendar was your idea,
Or served up to your wonderfulness
On a silver platter: The Year Of Our Lord!
Our Lord Augustus, more like,
But who remembers the great Emperor?
So narrow, the memories of mortal men,
Unless Harpies scream in their ears
Without breaks for mere eating, or the toilet.
But Lord of Lords,
If you’re still paying attention,
Please note for your records,
That Fred is still on fire,
And has never, not even a little,
Relaxed; has never slacked in his devotion
To the ideal, the Dream of Dreams,
To not be on fire.
December 26, 2009
DISCLAIMER: I offer my heartfelt apologies to anyone who is offended in any way whatsoever by the above pathetic excuse for a poem.
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