Two Ridiculous Poems - 3 Quarks Daily

by Akim Reinhardt

“In Memory of Franz Klammer”

Franz Klammer soared
down alpine mounts,
His glory assured
by the clock’s count

The lord of Austria,
the king of the hill,
the master of the Alps,
the bringer of thrills

His grace, his speed,
defied laws of nature
His beautiful name
redefined nomenclature

Franz Klammer! Franz Klammer!
you were the best,
sparkling Olympic gold
draped ‘cross your chest.

We shall always remember
how you stormed down the mountains,
and now that you’re gone
we shall always be counting

The hours since you left,
and awaiting the day
when a soothsayer comes
and we all hear him say:

“Look up on the hill,
yonder snowy peak
A young man races hither
Come see him streak

Down the mountain side
like a B-29 bomber
Roaring like thunder,
he looks like dear Klammer!

With the wind in his face,
the mountain in his hands,
such bold, Teutonic grace,
he looks like beloved Franz!”

But alas, I do fear
such a day will not come
during my life
He was the only one

One of a kind
as down the mountains he tread–
What’s that you say?
Franz Klammer’s not dead?

But that must be a mistake,
we visited him just last week
He was rotting at the hospice,
I heard the doctor speak

About the ugly brain tumor
the gangrene and gonorrhea,
the lupus, the scurvy,
the heartburn, the diarrhea

They said he was a gonner
just a matter of time–
What? They let him out ?
He’s going home? He feels fine?!

This is ludicrous! I thought–
No, no! I’m not bitter
But between you and me,
Jean-Claude Killy was better.

“Things I don’t Like on My Pizza”

Anchovies, which sound better than they taste

Mushrooms, either fresh, which are baked into oblivion, or canned and spongy

Garlic, since cooking will mellow it’s flavor. Granulated garlic, sprinkled on later, is much better

Meat, as I do not eat meat, though I used to enjoy pepperoni and sausage, but never hamburger

Jalapeños, since they tend to give me cramps (much like the sausage used to), but I enjoy hot food so other peppers are fine, and at the very least black pepper following the granulated garlic, then oregano and possibly crushed red peppers if the mood takes me

Politicians, for I detest their fresh-frozen smiles and stale crust haircuts

Angst, as eating pizza is a serenely pleasurable experience bested only by (and not even on certain days), sex

Anything blue, as George Carlin was at least half-right and I simply don’t trust it

The Wall Street Journal editorial page, which will overwhelm the perfectly balanced slice with self-satisfied smarminess

Anything from beyond the NYC metropolitan area (but including parts of NJ, NY State, and L.I.) As I have never had a great slice of pizza north, south, or west of this region, and the only thing east of this area is an ocean full of anchovies

Letter Bombs, whose fits of temper may conform to Hollywood stereotypes of hot blooded Italians, but in reality add little to piazza’s aroma or texture

Venereal diseases, whose painful sting could potentially add a welcome zestiness, but whose pusy discharge would upset and perhaps mask the melted mozzarella

The Ghost of Babe Ruth, whose apparition is always welcome to break bread in my home, but not pizza crust, for he’ll certainly take the last slice

The French (with apologies to Jean-Claude Killy), who, due to their proximity to the ocean and eastward location from NYC, may actually be anchovies in disguise

Post Script: There is in fact one establishment serving exquisite, fully sized slices of pizza in Baltimore, replete with crisp crust, quality cheese, not too abundant, and seasoned sauce. And no Animalia Chordata Actinopterygii Clupeiformes Engraulidae.