facile insolence towards the famous

i was reading WH Auden writing about the death of WB Yeats

not bad said i with a weary smile

for i was in the mood to disparage the dead greats

it hurts them not but it helps to pass the time

 

not bad said i with a short laugh

and it seemed a strange and fitting epitaph

for two considered king of the road

when knickerbockers were considered a la mode

 

perhaps i should temper this vain exultancy

with some dull reference to their immortality

but i don't think that applies

the great poet strives and self promotes and dies

his flesh his verse his bones consign to ground

i'm not a great poet

but i'm still around