Epode #7 - Poem by robert dickerson
Wilke is dead; long live Rodriguez!
When you told me the news
last night by candlelight, I thought
'You're not very interesting with your clothes on';
there were circles under your eyes;
even the waiter noticed.
Wilke is dead; Rodriguez is not.
I want to trust you but cannot.
And though you swear to me its me,
could you convince a hostile jury?
I rubbed the lamp-
the genie was not at home.
Wilke is dead; and after a formal year
They will crack his scrapbook.
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