Go on! Be a part of the hair you fear,
you proud stickler—
But don't dare the heavens to descend
almost to a man, lest the podcast relieve you
of the comedy gold in what the stork brought to brunch:
That's right, she's Daddy's little fundraiser,
mentor to the stars. Sweep her into your heart
not to doff your concern for questions
that practically ask themselves,
and set forth on a tourney of discovery;
you win some, you lose more. I've had a blast
despite repeated warnings of exponential poignancy.
We took a lot of pride in our druthers, waiting for
Our nachos and beer to get born. The fat sky
Cradled us mildly; in short order
The forest was adjourned. Who lurks there now?
It gets hard to see as night comes down
And pays for itself. Teased into being,
You begin to warm to your subject
Even as mine cools off.
Stripped to its merest identity, what you digest
Is what you gestate in lieu of an evening's
Elastic embrace. That done, you're free
To usurp a throne or two. I held out
My heart for the public to view.
Faceless and afraid, I stood lost in your thought,
Whose train had just up and left. Well then, I said,
Have a nice life, and a good weekend.