Forgive me, Tim, but when you were reworking 'Short Shots' ad nauseam, I did write a parody.
SHORT SHITE
To Michael Cantor
Dude with a beard.
Thinks I'm weird.
We've never met,
But chat on the net.
Englishwoman in Southwest France
She texted me a limerick.
It didn't quite scan. Who gives a shit?
New York Call From Terese
We're lining up the features for the fall.
Sounds pretty good--go ahead with 'em all!
Lines About Nothing--In French
Ecoutez,
S'il vous plait.
Va te faire
en coule!
For Dick Wilbur
I've never met him,
Though I've read his stuff.
I'll ask Murphy--
Are four lines long enough?
Dream
Recurring dream.
I had that one again
Where I wake up
Shouting "Lobstermen!"
Some Dude I Knew in High School
We lost touch.
I hear he's doing better
with his wife Maureen
who trains their Irish setters.
So, anyway, before you comment on this piece, I should note that I ran this by a prominent Irish poet (well, more of a drunk with nowhere else to go but the pub--but that's basically the same thing), and he thought it was brilliant. (He offered to fight me soon afterwards, which may take a bit away from it.) I also wrote this in homage to the deeply self-referential style of universally acclaimed poet Tim Murphy, whom I know. I haven't gotten opinions from Rhina Espaillat, A. E. Stallings, Sam Gwynn, Dana Gioia, and the ghosts of Howard Nemerov and Anthony Hecht yet, but they invariably like my work.
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