A comic novel in verse working title: OUT OF THE WINE JUG
Prologue: the choice revealed
We open in a deep, cranky underworld
wherein Apple earbuds vibrate, resounding:
On earth above, such chaos has unfurled!
Let us go aid our progeny, give them grounding!
“Send Abe!” some shout. “Send Plato!” cry others.
“Churchill!” wail many. “Gandhi!” some plead . . .
A lantern glowed. In an aged hand, it hovered.
“Diogenes,” the whispers came, firmly seeded.
All underworld eyes focused with a glow,
all underworld hands splayed open and ready,
all underworld ears prickled, ready to know
the choice of this searcher, infinitely steady.
He coughed twice, thus always his preamble.
“Victoria,” he announced, brown Greek eyes a-blink.
“That stuffy Queen?” That dismayed reply gave amble
through underworld grass, whilst doubters sipped their drink,
ambrosia, some called it, though more mickey finn
“No, no. She’s much too in a snit
over Elizabeth’s longevity. Will it never end?”
Diogenes smiled and did his lantern bit.
“Woodhull,” he announced.
“Who?” faces below shouted.
“You’ve seen her.” D did a boy thing with cupped hands
at his chest. Females rolled their eyes. Who doubted
the next world would toss out the same? Angel bands?
No, just more sex-crazed men in search of Viagra.
Open a pharmacy down here and claim a fortune.
“She’s got brains! Gumption enough to stagger a
red state or blue,” D added, perceiving the tune
his antic hands had prompted. En masse, the females
exhaled. “Two millennia searching for an honest
man—at last he’s willing to try us.” / He wails
about no honest caps. Let him try a bonnet.” /
“Have you seen her? She’s awfully haughty.”/