Seven Drunks
The jazz of humor in our house between
your lips and eyes and mine. And then, in time
that should be triumph and the quiet kingdom
of ring-giving night, comes David Letterman,
his funniness assessed by many millions
of teevee tourists gawking through his clever
paid family. His scripts memorialized
in books beside cash registers. His swiftness
proclaimed, recalled and copied badly each
morning across innumerable coffees. But
honor … But what I meant to say is: Humor
belongs to little obscure clubs like ours,
as in jazz, where infinite theme and variation
go new and lost each night into witty air,
having just kissed the ear of whoever's there,
at most six or seven drunks not listening.
From Poetry Magazine, Vol. 187, no. 4, January 2006. Used with permission.
your lips and eyes and mine. And then, in time
that should be triumph and the quiet kingdom
of ring-giving night, comes David Letterman,
his funniness assessed by many millions
of teevee tourists gawking through his clever
paid family. His scripts memorialized
in books beside cash registers. His swiftness
proclaimed, recalled and copied badly each
morning across innumerable coffees. But
honor … But what I meant to say is: Humor
belongs to little obscure clubs like ours,
as in jazz, where infinite theme and variation
go new and lost each night into witty air,
having just kissed the ear of whoever's there,
at most six or seven drunks not listening.
From Poetry Magazine, Vol. 187, no. 4, January 2006. Used with permission.
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