Tuesday, November 4, 2014


Do I have to spell it out for you? 
It so happened 

The last quack who ravished me 
Over a dish of Peking duck 
At the China Clipper 

I turned into a witch, 
Doctor Tu. 


  1. All the time but I'm only being myself--you?

  2. My dear poet sir, I'll have you know the previous commenter was not being rude (despite how it may have sounded), he was merely here to offer sustenance. He has cream cheese. He has steak and eggs.

    Humble moi (conversely), bowing before the superior genius of the work here generously set before us, can offer nothing to the querulous poetry gods save rue and aloes, left over from the ample stores I have put in for this season of lamentation, or was it to be celebration?

    The duck who quacks last gets the last quack, in any case, maybe, as Confucius said.

  3. Erm, what I meant to say, before getting run over by the food wagon, was, Terrific poem, Vassilis.

    I mean, do I have to spell it out for you?


  4. Monsieur,
    You have transmogrified a modest dish of Peking duck into a bewitching offering fit for any gourmet’s critical poetic palate--merci.

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