My Nobel Prize-Winning* Poetry
Hello subscribers. I know it’s been a couple of weeks, but I have always found since my days doing standup comedy in dive bars in Manhattan that the best audiences are the ones who are completely caught off-guard. If you’re sad that I’m inconsistent publishing, well, the name of this blog should have been your first warning - some weeks are going to be busier than others.
I live in the mythical Los Angeles San Fernando Valley, and I go to a University downtown. Which means that a few times a week, I get to sit in rush hour traffic and compose all kinds of poetry in my head. Since I am pretty sure that anyone reading this Substack would have at least a borderline level of literacy, possibly even approaching fluency in written language, I figured I’d share one of these bits of doggerel with you, my dear reader. In the words of the Bard, “Prithee.”
By Liam McEneaeny
Tell me, in the springtime plain
When the cockerel crows from the tree,
Why you merged six inches in front of me into my lane,
At 20 MPH slower than me?
A cloud of weed from the blunt you smoked
Filled my car, as the dawn was a-borning,
I rolled down my window as I lightly choked,
And checked my clock: eight thirty in the morning.
And I contemplate, in the morning glare,
Of the freeway winding into the sunlight blinding,
Am I responsible, is it fair,
To judge this one, or am I just no fun?
Or does the fault within me lie,
That I wish that you you would crash and die?
Anyway, please feel free to forward this email directly to whomsoever awards MacArthur Genius Grants.
If someone you hate lives in LA, please consider sending them to my show at the Hollywood Improv on February 22nd.