The Poetry of a Pompous Twit

Occasionally, when a fit hits me and I reorganize my home office; I come across long buried memorabilia.

This time is was a wire ringed notebook of poems I wrote just before leaving for my stint in the Marine Corps, during same and a few years after.
What was I thinking?  With what was I thinking, (Don’t go there!)

Who was this self-importantly bloated bit of pure pomposity?  Certainly not me… Can’t deny it.  It was handwritten in my once readable handwriting.  Dribble,  Dribble, double-Dribble.

The temptation is to burn it, or shred it first and then burn it. 

Did I? Of course not.  I put it back in its layer, like a bone, for some future archeologist to find and THEN shred and burn as they mumble to themselves, “Dribble,  Dribble, double-Dribble.”

The moral here is to never clean the office again. Who knows what might be find in this box or that?


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