A Poem by Drachel Herberg

He was the bastard of paternal hospitality –

Pressing his pestiferous plexus over umpteen

Salivating vociferously

above a soggy fob

To placate his rabid

hangnail.

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Her frequent scrumptiousness proved an ambrosial obfuscation

Of his long lucubration’s fruit –

"What a gizmo!" he cogitated – immunity, taxed by

unfaltering floccinocinihilpilification.

Neither! – and not for want of culinary rings,

Nor apparatus, nor multiplicands multifarious,

Do crepuscules combust. But when they do, when they must…

- Lo! Even then but for you, my slender, silky seal,

and intermittently (behold!) at that.

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Parboil, o Greculion, parboil and perambulate,

Though the sybarite of post-Hermitic times

Be watching ever closer!