Elegy For Larry B---

You were my second Division Manager,

complaining that I did not call you "sir,"

enough.  While our files and books were inspected,

that miliary swagger you perfected

(along with tinted, aviator glasses)

proved you a thoroughbred of horses' asses.

This was a polished act:  you never were

even a non-commissioned officer.

Your chatter, for an hour or two, sufficed

to prove you had not met our Lord and Christ.

And is it true that, at your heart's last throb,

you wished you had spent more time on the job?

Where you are now . . . well, Larry, I prefer

not to guess; but, there, do they call you "sir?"


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