I Wag This Dog

I Wag this Dog

        "...it can tell a dull story."
       William Matthews' "Pissing off the Back
        of the Boat into the Nivernais Canal"

Iamb
the measure of all man
iamb, iamb
the measure of all man.

See me stand, see me stand,
Master of all the Land,
Primogenitor of Poetry,
pissing in the proverbial wind,
Primal Source of sloppy verse
(ooops I wet myself again)....
The only thinking part of man.

Iamb the Pater Familias
"Do you have Prince Albert in a can?"
"Sure we do."
"Then let him out!"
Iamb the creative source of every dog-leg joke that ever was
and the lusty source of every child that has
your eyes, your chin, your smile.

Iamb poetry, Iamb music, Iamb philosophy:

What is good?
Good is that day at work, when you see the end of it
and know you did your part (almost) pretty-good.
Good is the coldest beer in your hand, the biggest fish
in your net, and your friend's big boat slowly
heading back to a dock he pays the rent for.
Good is milking your neighbor's cow through the fence,
with the sun just come up, the cool breeze in your face,
and holding something warm&wet in your hand.

What is evil?
Evil is following that gal home, whose big behind
attracts you like the divining rod of lust.
Evil is fighting that guy that you can't beat,
even with a 2x4 and a good first shot
in his huge, ugly mush
--or, worse yet, watching him sitting on your favorite bar stool
and buying drinks for that woman whose soul is
beat down with the biggest ugly stick there ever was.

But truly the greatest evil of all
is the Frankenstein monster that sneaks up behind you
--so you don't see it comin'--
it creeps up behind us like a malignant prostate tumor.

And even when your daddy died, his brothers
stood in line and shook hands with every other
(as I did in my imagination)
for I knew them all. I knew these old men and they knew me--
they had the smell of cancer on them
or was it dried urine? I think I know what cancer smells like.
And when the prostate dies, the rest of us will follow
very soon. For (in your mind) I am that flag
flown at half-mast to symbolize
the flacid final death which comes, too soon, for us all.

And what is Heaven?
Heaven is you at a Green Bay Packer football game
in December, with no shirt, your chest painted green and yellow,
in -10 degree weather and the beer in your plastic
cup with a frozen head of foam....

Hell is me there with you, colder'n the head of an eskimo's tool.