Eighty-Ninth Entry

Wow, I must have fallen asleep there for awhile.........

Oh, well. No excuses. Right back on the horse.

Here's my poem:

OPENING CEREMONY

The sans-culottes were muttering in their graves that night, rolling in pseudo-fury. Their ideas and a confiscated printing press sat blandly in the museum. Conflicts between night watchmen over when to take breaks were never mediated. The night watchmen have withdrawn to the forest, and the public have been freely admitted. We were obliged to listen to several speeches, orators spitting, spraying and drooling on all. As if to say a last goodbye, the exhibits trotted in a circle through the crowd before marching out the exits and leaving us holding their coats. We were forced to admit how dark it was. On the horizon, campfires appeared to light themselves. Towards the end of the month someone suggested leaving the museum but this was voted down. Jumping from the windows, a deputy stood among us and spoke. “We must find relief from the pain and irritation of the skin disease which is slowly putrefying our flesh.” I responded that I liked the way I was, just one voice in the growing stir. Stags and rabbits were then slaughtered wholesale. I began to wonder why I got involved in this poem in the first place. I saw some very young boys playing with human heads. Rather than interfere, I became the ad hoc referee to their sport, which eventually became our great nation’s pasttime.