To the Floating World -- III

Now that I'm picking up momentum with this writing-a-poem-every-day, why not put a poem or two in the bank, just for some rainy or otherwise busy day? There really is only limited danger when writing a poem of getting ahead of yourself, although there is usually considerable risk of getting detached from the rest of the herd.

To the Floating World -- III

Many years ago

I wrote a short story

Of indeterminate worth

About my attempt to kidnap

The personage of Philip Roth

Having traveled to his splendid home

In the Berkshires where I found

Him in the company of his friend

And live-in companion

Nathan Zuckerman

I mean

That story now lost and

Never having been published

Though politely rejected

By Zoetrope

Shows promise

Is what they said

Or some other such crap

I’ll be damned if

I either know or care

But please indulge me now

In the poetic retelling

Of this otherwise forgettable tale

Which ended with the image

Of Philip Roth taking flight

From a Berkshire cliffside

He rose thirty feet or so

And then my own unnamed

Doppelganger and kidnap

Co-conspirator attempted

A similar feat

Only to leap and crash

Through the underbrush

In ignominious shame

But the point of the story

Being that at least

My very own

Doppelganger

Though unknown

And unnamed

Had ventured

Off firm ground

In a manner

Similar to Zuckerman

If not just the very same