Stanley Cooper Poems

Frankly speaking
An anomaly
In Bush’s Washington
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My upcoming birthday has me thinkin’
Of ways to slow my agin’ and my wrinklin’
This thinkin’s got me queasy
Since I know it won’t be easy
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My brain has its own mind
Over which I've no control
It seems it's totally so inclined
To thwart my each and every goal
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Everyone has a bad eight years, once in awhile
But some who have it, at least have it in style
Not true of Dubbyah, in a class all his own
His eight years never could enter that stylish zone
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Surrounded by lush gardens,
The nursing home stood
Stark-bleak-lifeless
Mirroring the old souls
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Who’s on first, What’s on second
An Abbot and Costello skit
Costello never had it reckoned
He was fully confused by it
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I have this strange proclivity
To write about infinity
No better way to poem this, then
Without beginning or an end
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I recall my first birthday, I think
A million years ago
I know I need a real stiff drink
My time is running low
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Years ago I learned about longitude in high school
It was, they taught, an important geographic tool
But now with my grown-up sophisticated attitude
I find longitude no more prodigious than latitude
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If parallelism is factually true
Somewhere out there is an identical you
With identical joys and identical troubles
Somewhere out there’s your identical double
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