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07/31/08 - (3)
Dinosaurs Admittedly, for the past forty-five years, I've prided myself on my inordinately outsize lexicon, My polysyllabic vocabulary, my plethoric verbal armada,
My labyrinthine ganglion of stentorianly imperious words That would cause that curmudgeonly hubristic Dr. Johnson To go paroxysmal in his pedantic tracks, query, flummoxedly,
Why he'd even try to compile the most comprehensive dictionary Ever assembled, for the capacious English language, Cognizant that my word-hoard relegates his to shame's quagmire.
It's no phenomenological surprise, then, this prandial hour, As I repose here in my neighborhood café, preparing to versify, That chef Joe, knowing I'm a poet of intergalactic renown,
Imminently deserving of the myriad praiseworthy accolades I've garnered for my gargantuan repository of mother-tongue signifiers, Would request that I deign to compete with his staff,
Which has made three score and fifteen words out of "dinosaurs." Cornucopiously flattered that Joe's culinary entourage Has thrown down its collective gauntlet,
I know, incontrovertibly, that, having been published in Harper's, I have no recourse but to parry and thrust my épée At the college-aged junta of amateur lingual prestidigitators. (And there's an additional incentive for my opening my notebook And writing, atop a pristine leaf, where I normally scribe poem titles, "Dinosaurs": complimentary repast, when I prevail.)
But after fidgeting in my booth, for nigh onto an hour, Cogitating, tergiversating, ratiocinating, cerebrating, lucubrating, Nay perspiring more ragingly than my condensating water tumbler,
Over the appellation affixed to those primordial reptilian beasts, I begin to grow decidedly alabastrine, then porphyritic, Then apoplectic, seeing that all I have to show for my travail
Are "a," "I," "or," "so," "no," "in," "on," and "do." Chef Joe inquires, from the kitchen, "How ya doin'?" As Laura delivers my provender, I brush past her, toward the egress.
Now, it's 12:49. I'm restively writhing, moistening my sheets, Counting, reiteratively, my octet of words — dinosaurian sheep — Hoping they'll lull me to sleep, not stomp and eat me.
07/31/08 - (3)
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