Quiet and Cool

when a blowhard blows in then out again

Any fool who cannot write poetry
But can skim the first few lines may become
The judge and jury and jailer of me
Or you or of anyone not as dumb
As this self-appointed arbiter is
This tempest-in-a-teapot not-so-hot
Who could burst the bubbles in a gin fizz
By sheer and self-anointed dullardry

And so every day the real poets pay
As they pray this gasbag will float away
But until he does he creates his buzz
As he gets his kick from making us sick
While he stars in his deconstructive play
Till it all goes back to the way it was
If tempest-tossed and slightly overwrought
With the exception that we all agree

On one thing at least
Having tamed the beast
And booted the fool
Together
Our weather
Is quiet and cool

+Steven Curtis Lance



Copyright MMVI