Limerick of the Week #52: Sealed With a Kiss
It was time to call it a day
When the sunlight stole away
Blocked by the Moon
Not a minute too soon
Sure as night and day both stay
It was time to call it a night
When the day closed in up tight
Intersecting all wrong
With a sunset at dawn
To send us away in a fright
It was time to call it a life
When I took my lessons from strife
A star and a moon run amuck
Sounded the chord that duly struck
And cut to my soul with a knife
Totality's a ruse, it seems
Like the fleeting plot lines of my schemes
All shadows pass
When mass passes mass
And I await my returning life's dreams
_______________
And so ends a year's worth of Limericks-a-Week.
What better way to wrap the Limerick year up than with one about the recent total eclipse?
Relativity in Wax
A lit candle is a relative thing
The burning stub of a wick
The present fueled by wax and string
The future drilled down the candlestick
My eyes leave the wick aflame
Travel down the cylinder
Within which, is future, constrained
Until I can go no farther
From the flame of the present
To the dry wick lying in wait
The future, twice as incessant
If the other end burns at the same rate
A Rejection Letter
From: WSQPA
To: Mr. Baruch/Benedictus Spinoza, philosopher
April 10, 2024
Dear Mr. Spinoza,
Stop.
Do not bother us again.
We, the Board of the World Status Quo Protection Agency, reject your unsolicited critique of our twenty-first century.
You were the seventeenth century’s problem. Not ours.
How dare you ask questions and seek to arrive at beliefs and truth individually through reason. Citizens today have banded together in groups to hear the truth and facts from sources that comport with their worldview. We have no need of philosophers in 2024.
Thus, our status quo is groupthink.
Yes, our groups clash and there are wars that are political, spiritual, and militaristic. But they are part of our status quo.
You are free in your ivory tower to sneer at our way, and claim we are pursuing false “knowledge from random experience.” It is no wonder that you were excommunicated for your radical ideas.
We know that you worked with lenses for microscopes and telescopes. But you have no right to put our status quo under your microscope.
Warmly,
WSQPA
The Joke’s On Me
I can't believe it! I nailed the interview. The guy had no more questions for me after only 15 minutes. I made him laugh. I made him agree with me. My resumé, he said, was "sterling." And there was only one other candidate in the waiting room with me when I was called in. Slim pickings. How hard was it to beat out only one other guy? And look at him! He looked like a homeless guy. Smelled of alcohol. Tertiary smoke exposure stinking up the whole room. Shiny clothes that could stand up by themselves.
When I left my interview, exchanging with the other guy, I didn't leave. I re-sat. I wanted to see how long it'd take before the guy was thrown out on his ass. I wanted to hear the yelling that was certainly forthcoming.
Ten minutes went by. Twenty. An hour. I heard the man--the deciding man--laughing uproariously. Could this be happening? Was this guy his son or another relative?
I heard chairs shuffling and then the door opened. The "man," the deciding man, had one hand on the doorknob of the door he was opening and the other in a firm handshake with they guy.
"Then, Monday?" the man, the goddamn deciding man, asked, to confirm.
"I'm looking forward to it," the disheveled, stinky, dirty miscreant said through what few teeth he still had in his head.
The man, the fucking deciding man, returned to his office, closing the door behind him. Mr. Homeless walked over to me and held out both his palms, an announcement of expectations realized. Like, what'd you expect?
"Congratulations," I offered tersely and got the hell out of there.
At the bus stop, I melted into the bench, sorting out my loser life. Would I ever get a decent job. I gave up the one I had because I knew I could do better. Could I? Ever?
That's when he--the same guy--plopped down on the bench with me.
"Sorry for your loss," he offered.
"Who died?" I asked sarcastically.
"You, a little bit, don't you think?"
"Great. I have a philosopher here. Harvard?"
"No. Y'know, school of hard knocks."
"I know that school," I scoffed. "I plan to pledge a fraternity there."
"Need something to lighten the mood?" he asked.
"Not unless you're declining that job. I'd be happy to take your place as next in line."
"No chance. But here's a little joke..."
Murder was still illegal, so I just said, "I'm listening."
He pulled out a cracked mirror from his soiled coat's pocket and held in front of my face.
"That's me," I said, waving away his mirror.
"That's the joke. You're the joke. But it's a joke you'll never get." He paused, then said, "You can start laughing any time."
So, I did. Why? Why did I laugh? It was funny, that's why. Very funny. I was a big joke. I just had never gotten to the punchline yet.
"Thanks for the giggle," I said, but I had tears in my eyes.
"Know what? I'm gonna by you a drink. You could use one." He rose and offered his hand to help me up.
"Sure can," I said. "Why not," I said in resignation.
We both stood up and began to walk across the street toward the bar on the corner there.
A homeless guy and an imposter walk into a bar...