Epiphanies I never see
The plots remain forever more obscure
to me It seems that I will never get
the subtleties of string quartets
The maiden leaves me just as cold
As the ice she skates upon
or doesn’t skate upon at all.
But leaves her partner all alone
to ply the trade
And haul her all over the stage
The dying sun takes much too long
One could be driven to violence
by reading silently the Rubrik’s cube
of “100 Years of Solitude”.
Chaplin wasn’t such a gas
He certainly never made me laugh.
Beckett is beyond the pale
Godot should be put in jail
for standing those two suckers up-
Buroughs for eating in the raw.
Is there no decency at all!