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under a Creative Commons
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Postmodern Village
est. 1999
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From Rejoice in the Lamb Fries
by Francine DuBois

For I will consider the poet Geoffrey.
For he is the servant of the living Humor, duly and daily serving him.
For at the first glace of the glory of God in the East he smirks knowingly.
For he leaps up to catch the musk of morning flatulence, which is the blessing of God upon his prayer.
For having done duty in the W.C. and received blessing he begins to consider himself.
For this he performs in ten degrees.
For first he looks upon his fingers to see if they are ink-spattered.
For secondly he meanders into the kitchen.
For thirdly he demands his food in a manner befitting of Fred Flintstone.
For fourthly he ponders his reflection in a grapefruit spoon.
For fifthly he butters his toast with extreme gusto.
For sixthly he chews with his mouth closed.
For seventhly he fleas himself on a regular basis.
For eighthly he rubs himself against a post.
For ninthly he looks up for his instructions (valid during work hours only).
For tenthly he goes in quest of fun.
For having considered God and himself he will consider his neighbor.
For if he meets another poet he will perform the secret handshake.
For when he meets his editor he plays with him to give him a chance.
For one person in seven escapes his keen and sharp wit.
For when his day's work is done his business more properly begins.
For he keeps the Lord's watch in the night against boredom.
For he counteracts the powers of darkness by his electrical powers of description.
For he counteracts the Devil, who is death, by writing about life.
For in his morning prayers he loves the sun and the sun loves him.
For he has the subtlety and hissing of a serpent, which in goodness he puts into text for future generations.
For he will not do destruction if he is well-fed, unless it would be very, very funny.
For he will neither spit without provocation.
For he purrs in thankfulness when God tells him he's a good cat, man.
For English poets are the best in Europe.
For he is tenacious to his point.
For he is a mixture of gravity and waggery.
For he knows that God is his Saviour.
For there is nothing sweeter than his laughter.
For there is nothing more biting than his sarcasm.
For he is docile and can learn certain things.
For he can sit up with gravity, which is patience upon approbation.
For he can fetch and carry, which is patience in employment.
For he can jump over a stick, which is patience upon proof positive.
For he can write, which is patience upon a blank page.
For he can catch the cork and toss again.
For he is hated by the vicar, the nun, the nun's priest, the reeve, and the pardoner.
For he is loved by several young wives of bourgeois means.
For by stroking of him I have found out electricity.
For, though he is not omniscient, he is an excellent creator.
For he can tread to all the measures upon music.
For he can fart.

Based, like so many other poems, on Christopher Smart's Jubilate Agno, Fragment B, lines 695-768 (Available at http://www.poets.org/poems/poems.cfm?prmID=1841)

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