The Honor Men

   Good God - 
   I almost forgot the Honor Men!
   Those pillars of conformity
   with their orange blazers
   and Jeffersonian rectitude,
   afflicting us with their boozy breath
   and stale pretensions in the rotunda.

   And look how rotund they've grown to be!

   They're oranges teetering on toothpicks;
   oranges soaking in whiskey
   squirting bourbon when squeezed;
   oranges that should have been left
   to rot on the trees.

   Humor the Honor Men!
   For they upheld the Hypocritic Oath
   as long as their withered arms could.

   Humor them
   because their members have shriveled
   and their influence has petered out -
   leaving them petulant and confused
   because their time has come and gone.

   But what will happen to the country clubs?
   Who will boldly sail the shallow waters of our bays?
   Who will smoke cigars and waylay waitresses?
   Who will presume to know what everyone wants?

   Just as I think these thoughts,
   a vast image of the Tower of Babel
   troubles my sight.
   And hundreds of disparate parties
   espousing thousands of opposing beliefs
   swell on the lawn like some tumorous growth;
   each wearing orange
   and each vowing to uphold the Hypocritic Oath.

   Luvgood Carp, Editor-in-Chief 

   First published in Scarlet Leaf Review