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.