“rocky and bullwinkle” by Rakka. CC BY-NC-ND 2.0

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.


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