My Duty

My Duty
A love poem by Steven Wallace
Written on April 27th, 2003

It is my duty!
It must be done!
I must do my duty!

Sometimes in life you have to ask yourself, "Is this my duty?"
The sad answer to this question is usually, "Yes."
Sometimes I lay awake at night and ask myself, "How could that be my duty?"
It then replies, in a low, dreary voice, "Nothing personal."

Woe beeth my duty!
Woe indeed!
Woe for the duty of Nrosenroe!
Woe for the forest of Kubwi!
Woe for me and woe for you!
Woe woe woe! The duty of "woe" is to be a poetic buzzword,
and woe again I say! Woe, Nelly!
Woe woe woe your boat gently down the stream, it's disgusting!
Why must poets use this word with such casualty?
Why must poets molest the English language so?
Do poets even know the definition of most words they use?!
The answer, my dear dear child, is simply that poets are fools.
The idea of poetry is simply so idiots can pretend they have brains.
Woe I say! Woe it all! I have woe for brains!
It is the duty of the poet to be a linguistical manhandler!
It is the duty of the poet to ransack our vernacular.
The poet is the fool.
The duty of all poets is to be fools,
but the duty of all fools is not to be poets.

Philosophy.

Are I not so exceptionally enlightened?
Do I not sound so deep in thought?
Bleh!
Thou dost make me sick!
It is the duty of mankind to be a moron.
How could this be my duty?
Why am I stuck here with these fools?
Incompetent, ineffective, inept, infirm.
Mindlessness! Absolute mindlessness!
The half-witted, imbecilic, ludicrous losers who think they
have an intelligible ideology make me convulse in hilarity!

Is this my duty?
What if I want not my duty?
I shall have it not! I shall disregard my duty!
I will not take my duty, but rather let it ripen.
I will throw my duty at the rest of them,
those withered, decrepit fecal mounds that
call themselves "human." Incoming!
I will inundate my duty in the lavatory of life -- no!
I will make those meatheads nosh my duty! Nosh! Nosh!
Gusto? Gusto!
Kook.

Duty. Huh.