Cleric Merrick

 

 
a writer’s pallet is

a lonely one, sometimes

a ticking stuck through with straws

of all kind–

short, grasp, last, & long,
 
 
and never a pen when you need one….

sharing sheets with phantoms

that aren’t even dressed

–for an Opera—

of course, and

who’s Opera, you say?

Why, it isn’t a Who

but a What:

an exaggerated recounting

of an otherwise

commonplace

(Reality TV)

event.

How exaggerated?

Well, it ain’t over ’til the Fat Lady sings…

Larger-than-Life

that bitch gets her vibrato on through the entire thing–

I mean the entire thing!

Great time to nap,

whaddya suppose her most unusual plaint is?

You’ll never guess–

it’s the greasepaint,

of all things

the greasepaint.

even after the show vestigial traces

mar her everyday collars, too.