Guest Poet

James Dufficy is an old friend who lives in London. He can observe the farce that is america from afar, or across a puddle anyway. I envy all of my friends who live overseas. Many years ago I lived in Australia, and after that New Zealand, in an effort to escape Ronald Reagan and the first George Bush. Things seemed as dire then as now. They were not. Nor were those the good old days. They were just the days that preceded these and followed the ones before. James is a fine poet and artist and bon vivant. His friend Barry is a Wodehouse scholar and writer as well. James sent me this poem about Matthew:

The Check-up

He always liked flossing
As a quick and safe way
To self-harm.

But he was bitterly disappointed
When I said, no, something was wrong
If he drew blood.