The
R
A
n
T
Had to Have Known, Something, In The First Place To Have had
Remembered It. Where'd You get That Numb, James Joyce?
'Can't Believe My Ears Saint James Infirmary?
The Dearest
Little Social Climber, Mother. Named him, James.
And the Social Climb Took Years too But Could not Even See That Summit.
Then you can See for Ever And Ever, Damn Near, Forever up There.
What Ever Was she Thinking?
James the Great Pretender,
Oh Mother
Did you have To? Carry That Picture Of me in Your Wallet?
Yes it was I Then at age Five, Sixes & Sevens Always with you.
Smoking That Clay Meerschaum Not Really Smoking
One of Those St. Patrick's Day Parade Souvenirs
And There it Was Taped
Across the Little Photo That Mothers Show to Brag About The Brood
The Great Pretender. No Doubt She Must have Cut the words
Out of some Magazine. From the Top Ten List, it was
By the Platters And Then There was my Friend Janie Goldberg.
Her Mother's Name Really Was Molly Goldberg, But She Wasn't
The Famous Comedienne. No Comedy For Janie had Her Bones
To Pick too. Why Was it That I Would say Something so Foolish as
'Jews are so Frugal', She Demanded To Know 'An Admirable Trait,
I Think I Said.' 'Can't Believe my Ears, Such Bigotry.' 'And to Hear
This From a Friend', She Said. 'I Don't Think Being Frugal, as you Say
Is a Very Jewish Trait at All.' Well I Didn't say Like, 'I Jewed him Down
For a Price', nor Some Such Anything That I Would Consider
To be Bigotry I Said 'I Think Frugality is a Very Good Trait, Indeed.'
'And Maybe Its Because You Just are not so Particularly Jewish.'
Oh Please Just Stop Harping On it Will you?!' You Might not Think so
But You've Just Called me a Harp. Oh so What are you Going
To Tell me That you Play the Harp? The Irish are the Harps Janie Dear
Now who is The Bigot? Those Drunks They Keep Hauling of in the
Paddy Wagon 'Its not the Same. Oh yes It is. No not so Is that What
Irishmen Call It? Oh When it Suits them? Otherwise its Maybe you
Think its Jib-Irish or Malachi Too. Now These Things are Touchy oh
Just Stop the Rant and Re-Joyce! 'you Think What Wrote was
What-cha-ma-call-it, ah, Poetry?
