It happened, by chance to be a “Silly Tuesday”…I left Godfrey in the grocery check out line, for a brief time. There he stood in abject horror, an odd young man, as the cashier held before him, a large tin of Harvard Beets that would not scan. I lurked behind the cheese and a door labeled “staff” so I could laugh.
Stuck he was in line with two elder ladies, one described loud and shrill how Yucca Filmentosa was making her quite ill. “And my husband’s Thymus Vulgaris now a dreadful sight to see, “it is Crepuscular!!- I saw the look of desperation on the face of my vagabond, Godfrey.
“They all thought those beets were mine, and that large box of lady’s things”. He shuddered as we finally got away, so as a treat I took him out for the evening, where a poet was reading at our favorite cafe’.
“Ms Cedar Waxwing will read from her book- “My Lunch Is Morally Superior To Yours”- was posted on the front doors. Every poetic event we went, we would bet the same chap, sat at the same table teeth beside him on a plate, as he ate, this time a waffle.
The place was packed, I sat beside the teeth, it was awful. Soon a hush passed oer the room, one last skreek of chair, final adjusting of the mic, Ms Cedar Waxwing wafted onstage, to stand dramatically within a ring of light. She was upper middle age, in furry boots and layers of cape, glasses on a gold chain..
TEN YEARS A PANTOUM- She began to read in dour refrain. Every six lines you return to my mind- like a pantoum. Every six lines tell myself I am fine- there you are in my sitting room. Raoul, you buffoon, a pantoum, a pantoum!!.
MY HAIKU- Haiku, lo ku, no ku. Onecan takes flight with my heart. Pretty Toucan gone. Raoul how I adored you- Haiku, lo ku, no you. His coffee congealed, his donut ignored so I ate it. Cedar Waxwing read on, Godfrey sat mesmerised – breathless between verses she paused, and eyes aglow, he waited.
Cedar strode off stage to polite applause, before “Ode to a Rice Cake” for an autograph break. “I told him, Godfrey she is terrible, a complete poet-all, claims she’s read for The Queen, read at Carnegie Hall, elected her self “poet laureate of the west”. Her verse can get no worse and almost everyone has left.
“Oh Worzel, dear, this is a rare delight, I think Miss Cedar is so bad she is great, let us stay until the end, you and I and the chap with his teeth on the plate”
ODE TO A RICE CAKE- My lunch is morally superior to yours. Not flat and soggy like a sandwich from the stores, that sell lukewarm coffee, with those nasty, sticky floors, my lunch is morally superior to yours. Rice cake heaped with Kale, yogurt fed on grass, no pepperoni stick, nothing from a chicken’s ass. Seaweed gleaned, from France’s distant shores. My lunch is morally superior to yours.
KNOW YOUR MARSUPIAL- Wallaby, wallaby, gentle are you, thump one another the mean Kangaroo. Koala, or tree pig will wee down on you. Opossum delicious in pie crust or stew. Know your Marsupial, I do.
Cedar Waxwing wrote the sonnet, the ode, even a dirge, “A nefarious “poet all”, yes she is agreed Godfrey on our walk home, still in thrall. “One cannot be self concious over spoken word, I wish she had not fled the stage so haughtily, I wished to praise her courage to embrace the absurd.
AND THE 48th WISDOM OF GODFREY STATES- It is fine by me, if a “Poet All” you be. For this life go’s so fast, the readings over so quickly. There is only every day- no certainty- Embrace the Absurd in all you see.