David Rakoff: poet, snark master

David Rakoff waxes poetic on:


An insight that always cut keen as a knife
Whose wound was pure pleasure; Clifford loved, loved his life.

Her presence, she thinks, is what’s rendered him gladder
But really it’s just that he aimed for, and had her.

You’ve promised to honor, to love and obey,
We’ve sipped our champagne and been cleansed with sorbet
All in endorsement of your Hers and His-dom.
So, let me add my two cents’ worth of wisdom.

He thought of those two things in life that don’t vary
(Well, thought only glancingly; more was too scary)
Inevitable, why even bother to test it,
He’d paid all his taxes, so that left . . . you guessed it.

Instead of her wishing for eyes that stayed dry
She should cherish that Helen, so able to cry,
That Helen who felt things and then wasn’t scared
To air them in public. That Helen who cared…

How I wish you would stop up that bile-spewing spigot
You use when you speak, you rebarbative bigot.

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