Did It Again
Private eye, working for a famous poet,
trailed me all over town.
Then I ducked behind a trash bag pile,
leaped out, and took him unawares, by the neck.
"Why are you following me, Marlowe?"
"It's known you steal lines from famous poets,
even word for word, whole stanzas too."
"It's allowed - for purposes of satire."
"You a satirist? Don't make me laugh."
"You nor nobody else. But who you working for - Kooser, Simic, Pinsky?"
- naming three
I'd recently been copying out.
|| He wouldn't say, a credo matter, likely,
so I let him go
skipping down the block.
I had my laundry with me, and promises to keep,
and miles to go before I sleep.
On the Job
Having put on a new pair of socks Monday,
I was unrecognized by anyone at work,
except the boss who said, "Your Friday summaries
contained a bunch of mistakes, false projections,
incorrect arithmetic, several misspellings,
and any number of doodles that might be Freudian."
Just like that! I drooped back to my desk,
staggered into my chair, my head slumped down,
as I pondered Mr. Kafka's remarks, wondering
whether some personal criticism was implied.