Of Ball and Chain

The case of post-modern post-poetry is so...tricky...But since I've begun with it

I'll just have to run with it.

(Since I'm first past the post-modern, I'll be happy to pun with it.)

But unlike many poets nowadays, I always have a good time

With a good rhyme.

So let the post-post-moderns tout their petty schism;

I'll refuse no witticism.

Another thing I won't refuse is a request

And so I'm writing the rest of this poem about my girlfriend, at my girlfriend's behest.

Ah, my girlfriend is swell, she's better than any Lesbia or Beatrice

(and if I ever had to choose between them, it'd be she-I'd-miss).

She's as cheerful as bubble-tea

She's got good looks and subble-ty.

She's got a voice like nightingale

And she sports a headpiece like a mountain quail.

If there's a problem afoot, though she hardly did ask of it

(Complain though she might) she'll make a good task of it.

And though at first appearance, she's got a rather dodgy grasp on train schedules and their relation to the Gregorian timeline

To me she is merely illustrating the relativity of time as purported by Albert Einstein.

And moreover she's very forgiving of my foibles

So who cares if she don't know her Duchamps from her Elgin Moibles?

And I know she'd love me in wealth or in penury

Or whether my name was Norbert, Alfred, or Henury.

And that's because I write her poems, yes, all women love a rhymester;

No matter how lilting your song or guitar solo is, fellas, my writing is sublimster!

I'm just sayin', if she ever took off from me like Helen of Troy

It'd have to be with one a helluva boy.

But most important of all, she is so good at sleeping in, I'd say she's a professional sleeper;

And as I rarely see much of her in the morning, I think I'll keep her.

(Post scriptum, lewd fellows, I'll be her defender

Against any who think this is double-entendre!)