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Ode to the Motherfucker Who Stole My Pants
(with apologies to John Keats)
February 13, 2001
My heart aches, and a drowsy numbness pains
My sense, as though of hemlock I had drunk,
Or emptied some dull opiate to the drains
One minute past, and Lethe-wards had sunk:
'Tis not through envy of thy happy lot,
But being too happy in thine happiness,--
That thou, light-winged Dryad of the trees
In some melodious plot
Of beechen green, and shadows numberless,
Takest my corduroy Diesel pants from my locked locker at the New York Sports Club at 91st and 3rd and charged $350 on my Visa card and made off with $300 in cash and my license and my keys and my day planner, you motherfucker.
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