Two Poems Featuring the Portrait of the Artist as a Young Moron

Random San Francisco Memory

Summer of 1982, I think,
the San Francisco Public Library
was sponsoring some sorta poetry contest,
so I took a quart of Olde English 800
to the Panhandle (a block from my flat
on Clayton) and wrote ‘Ode to Bullwinkle’
on the brown paper bag.
“This is great, and I am a great great poet”
I thought when I had finished,
and immediately thereafter
a cop gave me a ticket for public drinking.

I also didn’t win the contest.

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Ode to Bullwinkle

The eyes of a three-year old
        are burned
 The method by which we tykes
        become learned
 Who would have thought? The
        secrets of our world
 Be taught by a moose
 and spunky squirrel?
 O Sterling steed
 Hey antler breath
 Your praises we sing nigh
 But to your rabid rodent friend
 May he fly in a Cuisinart and die
 What do we know of
 Cold War dear
 But from a couple of
 cartoon spies
 One was short with a mustache
 The other had marvelous thighs
 Imperialist fascist bastard squirrel
 I spit on you—
 Ptui!!!!
 For I am a political dilettante
 And live on beans and ratatouille 

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