To Mordecai
So long, old chap; your blunt and brutal words have saved
a mouselike Canada. I'm sure that in your grave
you bear the marks of surly anger even now:
the rat's-nest hair, those piercing eyes, that wrinkled brow.
Political correctness was a cankered sore
upon your arse, contracted from a specious whore.
Your Duddy's shelved with Jacob Two Two, battered, read
with glee so many times. I've had you in my bed,
you know, and underneath that prickled edge there lay
one damn fine literary lover. Can't you stay
for one more book? I'll buy the finest single malt
and light up your cigar. I want to savour salt
and bitter irony again. Just one more taste;
our lives were all the richler when you slapped our face.
Mordecai Richler 1931-2001
Rachel
[This message has been edited by Rachel (edited July 08, 2001).]
|