Don Juan in 30 Lines
Two hundred years,* it’s come to this—
we want our verse exiguous;
now Don Juan, that epic book,
must be one page, a minute’s look.
He was a blithe lad, led astray
by vixen lust, then chased away
where, shipwrecked, he attained true love—
minutia we got rid of;
that romance blocked, again to sea
where Turks brought him to slavery;
then cross-dressed in a seraglio,
Juan had exploits we forgo;
prolix Bryon, let’s give ’im props
but, these days, 30 lines is tops.
There was a war Juan joined in
and rescued a Muslim urchin;
this saga once had folks engrossed,
but brevity’s now uppermost;
then on to Catherine the Great’s
court, where the plot expatiates;
Juan her lover, Byron wrote
two cantos, now lopped to a mote—
’cause, nowadays, attention’s gone
a minute on, per au courant.
From there, our hero England went
to laud freedom and parliament;
while getting robbed, his mugger shot—
but that is all the time we got.
Today, most reading’s cursory,
so fare thee well, old epopee.
* Byron began the 16,000 line, unfinished, “comic epic” in September 1818.
Craig Kurtz
Mediocre Man
I am the mediocre man
who lives on the installment plan;
my car is sensible, and I’m
forever and a day on time;
my job, it puts me through the paces
so my kids can have braces;
perhaps I’ve gained a little weight
but my wife says that I look great;
we switched to decaf years ago,
we’re keeping our blood pressure low;
I’m looking forward to a raise,
the separate beds are just a phase;
the walls are beige, the lawn is mowed,
our music’s middle of the road;
we vote for higher taxes which
shows our resentment of the rich;
we want the poor to have enough
so they don’t come and steal our stuff;
I used to work out at the gym
but who cares if I’m fit and trim?
My wife went back to work because
of therapy or menopause;
our daughter’s vegetarian,
our son’s gender contrarian;
the people that I work for are
all younger than me, and sub-par;
I read the news, I pay my bills,
I’m careful with those codeine pills;
I’m online often all night long,
my wife says that there’s nothing wrong;
the dog’s been neutered, the roof’s fixed,
our company’s ethnically mixed;
my parents are both passed away,
assured that I turned out OK;
when stuck in traffic, all alone,
I think of lovers I’ve outgrown;
most nights at sleep, I tend to snore
and most of my dreams are a bore.
The Pros and Cons of Pistols
If this country falls apart altogether … having a handgun in your pocket isn’t going to save your life.
—Ayn Rand
Pistols are all well and good
for shooting guys like Robin Hood;
they’re efficacious to win wars
and even overthrowing tsars;
now, if you’re challenged to a duel,
a pair of pistols’ pretty cool;
and if there’s foxes on your farm,
you better get a firearm;
but what do we think of gun rights
when aimed at us by bedlamites?
There is a form of suicide
where innocents must join the ride;
it rarely happened days gone by
but now a lot of people die;
agreed, it’s impolite, but I
will note its dudes, not asking why;
sure, olden days were pretty rough
and guns had reasons, sure enough;
but in the shine of modern times,
what’s with these desultory crimes?
Now, regulation lacks assent
’cause no one trusts the government;
we might agree it’s some problem
then it’s back to “us versus them”;
sure, banning guns most lib’rals think
would be diff’rent than banning drink;
I can’t say that sways me at all—
so what if pot’s against the law?
But then we got the NRA
which doesn’t have much new to say;
you’re either one of them, or not—
who cares how many folks get shot?
There’s something ’bout society
which makes it less safe annually;
possessing pistols, in the main,
is fine, ’til the neighbor’s insane;
the country’s split on this, at best—
good luck with your bullet-proof vest.
Surveillance
Or, Deleting Our Vanity?
The internet is watching you,
and who else cares what you’re up to?;
your so-called friends, your would-be wife
are first to say, dude, get a life;
the neighbors once knew our affairs
but nowadays, nobody cares;
our parents once cared what we did
but that was then, so good luck, kid;
we once thought God watched over us
but He turned out oblivious;
the bands of social life went splat
and narcissism’s where it’s at;
nobody gives a rat’s rear end
unless you are their Facebook friend;
now, worry not of privacy,
you need it like virginity;
we heed not caution which just proves
we want someone to watch our moves;
we must sign up, log on, enlist—
without Google, we won’t exist;
the thought that someone’s watching us
means life is not anonymous;
surveillance bothers us not, since
it proves we have significance.
Craig Kurtz