This place is a mess.
It’s crawling with dress-shoe laces
Running about with furious hordes
Of angry clipboards, slippery paperclips,
And a tangy apricot sloppily sneezing from Peru.
I think I left the casserole in the oven too long,
Because it’s beginning to laugh at me and call me names.
There’s somebody banging about in the closet,
A pair thumping its thumb on the counter,
My fishes swim around on the television,
And the rounder of the flounders is falling in the cauliflower
While a Metaphysician profoundly wishes
To call a philosophical question into question.
So let me call the lovely flower Lee—
Does any one have tickets to the comic opera tonight?
I think I left mine inside the funny machine—
She and I will go tonight
To see the amusing poetaster
The man with the yellow bow tie,
But it could be terrible
For all I care.
The casserole is furious with me,
And sometimes it is strange
How we see ourselves in art.
“THE MAN WITH THE YELLOW BOW TIE”