Sunday, November 11, 2012

The Poet Laureate of the Fenwick Compound

Johnathan recites his epic poem in honor of Molly's 50th birthday party. 

For Molly

And as we solemnly wander in from the autumnal gloom,
myriad faces greet us and light up the room...
For tonight we celebrate, and eschew our sorrow -for very 
soon shall come the 'morrow, finding ourselves again alone... 
footfalls echoing in corridors unknown...

And in solitude, our minds doth fear 
to ponder the passing of yet another year
But tonight -tonight! We gather as one, and though it 
seems we seek not but fun,
'Tis in fact a bittersweet reality
 that we ponder the passing of half a century...
And what better subject to serve as our muse
 than Molly, sweet Molly, and not Thomas Cruise

For is there a kinder being on yon Winter Hill, than the 
 brown-eyed girl from Rockford, Ill.?
Annoyed she is so seldom, and though Christine causes 
bedlam in her life,
She remains her common-law wife....

And what love it takes to endure the foul -
the foulness of a dog that is moving its bowels!
In the misty morning on the top of a hill,
a frosty poop snagged and bagged by the girl from 
Rockford, Ill.

And what of Wrigley, that son of a butch, who chomped 
my shin and nipped my foot?
And with his sharp teeth glistening and bared,
Christine sat motionless, like a frozen LaClair

But in walked Molly in stockings and garters,
and took charge of the scene, but that's just for starters!
For when I was lost she offered a room and bed,
And though in the night she gave me no head,
I thought it neither selfish nor silly, 
understanding her proclivity.

But she gave me the strength and courage 
to move my own bowels from Extra Space storage, 
 loading the truck and giving the fuck 
I was not able to give myself. 
And taking my life down from the shelf 
Molly and Chris packed it all, 
for indeed they know something about U-haul... 

And tomorrow when our delirium has passed, 
and we find ourselves alone, aghast, 
let us remember this evening when the room was warm 
and our faces shone 
with the light that occurs when life becomes a poem, 
keeping comfort from the cold 
as outside the autumn winds doth blow... 

-Jonathan Donahue Copyright 2012 Poet Laureate Fenwick Compound 11/10/12

1 comment:

Anonymous said...

Thanks, Baron. This poem belongs to the ages now....