The day has come
to set myself down
For a
heart-to-heart talk with me,
And it’s time to
set the record straight
For all I’m
expected to be.
It’s an old New
Year tradition
To list all
improvements I can
But a waste of
time where I am concerned
For I am that a
perfect man.
Oh, I am so good,
it’s amazing!
So pure of the
highest degree
That there’s
nothing at all
For me to recall
Of a faulty
personality.
I’ve given up
smoking cigars and the like.
Martinis? I’m down
to just one.
I’ve quit chasing
girls (under thirty, at least)
And my steaks must
now be well done.
Yet, in spite of
all this
There’s something
still lacking;
A trait I’m
reluctant to name,
For despite my
unseemly wise-cracking,
My only assertion
to fame
Are those trite
little verses with phrases just so,
With metaphor and
simile sublime.
So I hereby
resolve to write more of the same ―
Fun poetry, with
meter and rhyme.