Large Fierce Mammal

This poem is born of actual events, and is offered with apologies to those hopefuls among the distaff who may have fallen for it in the past, and feel ill done by at its clear exclusivity to the sensibilities of your male counterparts. Please know, you are not forgotten. Apologies too to Groucho Marx whose sage words were paraphrased in the last two lines.

The Fools of April

By LFM

Two score years ago
Upon a whim did I decide
To send abroad a rumour
Making claim that I had died.

And thence for three months on I watched
And rocked with mirth to see
How many’d watch me coming
Who Would cross the street and flee.

But so much fun cannot be had
A single time my friends,
Played upon those ones we know
Anticipate our ends.

And so I’ve made a practice of
Demising now and then,
At intervals that vary from
A mere two years to ten.

This very year I thought I might
Repeat the thing once more,
Complete with certain evil twists
As never seen before.

But yesterday I shelved it when
My Wife gave her consult –
She’d neither time nor patience
For the usual result.

For every time it’s thought that I
Have met my end of days,
She hears from those who would console
In all the warmest ways.

And every day of snickers from
My darkest evil core,
She spends with toothy Dogs
Just fending suitors from the door.

Of course, I’ve bowed to her desire,
But by no means forever.
I’ll take a break to hone the gaff
And polish the endeavour.

So if you ever hear the news
I’ve gone and done my lot
Take rein upon your heart’s desires –
It may be true, or not.

Lest eye be touch-ed, absent blink,
I’ll all pursuits preempt,
I plan to live forever lads,
Or die in the attempt.