Michael Gushue, p.2
HISTORIA
At the battle of Cumae the wry Laodiceans
Were planning to do their personal best
And this even though they were only given
Palm fronds and pieces of bark for their weapons.
After marking their bodies in the three sacred places—
And, if they’d had them, they’d have rattled their spears—
They decided that waving the fronds about menacingly
Would strike fear in the hearts of the easily distracted.
Striking their foreheads, they marched as a phalanx
Behind the Imagists and apostate Capuchins
Into the pass known as Schroedinger’s cat
The way one sentence always follows another.
All set to exhort them, Sirac drew out his sword
And called to the hoplites in a voice like a camel:
“Remain indifferent to politics, religion!
Whatever you do, keep your head above water!”
A thousand years later, in the last of the battles
To unify that empire called holy and roman
The frontal assault is suddenly confused
By an army dressed as magician’s assistants.
“Who the hell are you?” yelled Barbarossa.
He seized the nearest one by the throat,
With his eyes flashing from beneath his brow,
And shook him around like a doughnut of skin.
“None of your beeswax,” was the crumpled answer,
“Centuries from now you’ll be remembered
As Snidely Q. Whiplash, although with red hair,
While we, Freddy, we’ll be as fashionable as ever.”
At the battle of Cumae the wry Laodiceans
Were planning to do their personal best
And this even though they were only given
Palm fronds and pieces of bark for their weapons.
After marking their bodies in the three sacred places—
And, if they’d had them, they’d have rattled their spears—
They decided that waving the fronds about menacingly
Would strike fear in the hearts of the easily distracted.
Striking their foreheads, they marched as a phalanx
Behind the Imagists and apostate Capuchins
Into the pass known as Schroedinger’s cat
The way one sentence always follows another.
All set to exhort them, Sirac drew out his sword
And called to the hoplites in a voice like a camel:
“Remain indifferent to politics, religion!
Whatever you do, keep your head above water!”
A thousand years later, in the last of the battles
To unify that empire called holy and roman
The frontal assault is suddenly confused
By an army dressed as magician’s assistants.
“Who the hell are you?” yelled Barbarossa.
He seized the nearest one by the throat,
With his eyes flashing from beneath his brow,
And shook him around like a doughnut of skin.
“None of your beeswax,” was the crumpled answer,
“Centuries from now you’ll be remembered
As Snidely Q. Whiplash, although with red hair,
While we, Freddy, we’ll be as fashionable as ever.”