The Cartoonist Poem by D.C. Malone

I remember the first time I watched his menacing ink dry
His penmanship -- oh so withdrawn
His figures -- perfectly skewed
His compositions have been smeared away, but the impression remains

Those who speak the prime patois of fine art
Refuse to say solo pen-name in their lectures
For they are still in the belief
That comics are a chit-chattery conversations only a child could host

So when the modern era is stuck between the Nighthawk and a hard place
He's left haunting empty parking lots
And dissolving into the gaps in between the goldenrod and indigo drawings of his page
Like a man on the threshold of a hard decision

He is not a threatening man
Just a talented one