Alas, Utopia!
When the world is sane and crime-free,
I, for one, will be desolate. I've spent my life
acquiring vocabulary and elegant habits
of self-expression, civility and exquisite aesthetic
tastes.
Once I could have been a Samuel Johnson,
but what good are fine conversational skills now?
With whom would I converse? No, there's only
one role that suits my hard-earned skills:
Super-villain. "It's been delightful
exchanging drolleries with you, but, alas,
Mr. Bond, our time is limited -- YOUR time
and earth's, that is, and I'm afraid
that we must, ah, terminate
this divertissement in the interests of, ah,
the joys of limitless ambition…" - hell,
what am I to do? Write more feckless verses
when I could be destroying rude heroes
and their barbaric civilizations
with excruciating finesse, smirking civility
and rapier-sharp irony? Reader, you are not
amused? You find my maundering tiresome?
My apologies. Perhaps THIS will, ah, divert you....
Dean Blehert
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