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Dr. F, And Professor D.

Poetry
by John Delonas

F.: I remember not what I read,
Nor where I first read it--
Of the pianist in town;
He is reported very good.
D.: The recital was yesterday.
(The dusky porch screens
Caught the dirty beams
Of a citronella sun,
While swinging, rockered we
Swill black coffee
Out of striped crockery.
It's fun on the old glider,
Hosted by the wicker chairs,
In and out and creak and crud . . . )
F.: Did you count the masts in the marina?
D.: Do you think Cathy can make those stairs?
Was the dead dog of mixed blood?
F.: Could you use her puppy purina?
D.: What we write and what we read
In our profession,
Would win us no penance
If computers heard confession.
Could my IBM learn to forgive
Nonproductivity as a will to live?
F.: To break the chi square train,
I read a little each day of Twain,
And laughed until I cried--
Let me light the lights-- but say,
In everyone somebody died.
D.: Yes, Twain and Ernest were funny
That way.


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