Much Ado About Nothing

Whoop de do! Who needs
another excuse? I guess
my mind-set’s revealed
in the hullaballoo of it, a
public outcry, noisy party
or a fuss. But not being

into precedence abuse I ’m
learning looser definitions
and exposés, wordplays
thus reducing the noise to
less than a crowd cheering –
plus me, a one-man band,

beer in either hand and a
grin as broad as my hat.
I must explain – the revelry
planned is for reaching 1000
poems. This isn’t it, not yet
anyway – that day isn’t out

of reach – just 27 to impeach
and I’ll gladly pack it in.
Looking back was trifling sad –
had a lot of fun travelling;
spent some time last night
reading annotations from

special friends dating years –
a few famously waylaid,
seized by Real World inertia
and mired in it. Too many
temptations we say, but this
faerytale land seduces all who

enter, arraigning them as
supplicants seeking poetic
agendas and freedoms they
already have. It leaves me weak,
mocking in surrender – far too
much ado about nothing!
© 16 November 2007, I. D. Carswell