They enjoyed their time together in the manner in which old friends can do. They had been friends since grade school. They could talk of their childhood, of their parents, of their respective loves in their life… or of political and social issues. Basically they could talk about anything. And the ease of their conversation translated perfectly to emails and quick turn around responses… something that would usually happen at the start of the day.
“Here is something to get you started… I know you will like it!
Balls of tasty chopped meat
Smothered in tomato sauce, oh what a treat!
Add some melted mozz, isn’t that neat?
Placed in bread of hero, can’t be beat!”
“Really impressive. Don’t give up your day job.”
“You’re jealous because you can’t write poetry.”
“Poetry? Is that what you call that?”
“Yes… It’s my ‘Ode to a Meatball Parm Hero.'”
“Ode?”
“Yes, Ode. It’s a form of poetry. I write Odes all the time. It’s a creative outlet that is necessary for my well being.”
“Does that mean that you have given up finger painting?”
“I gave that up a while ago… just after I stopped making paper snow flakes.”
“Did Sandy take away your big boy scissors?”
“Yes. I cut her favorite tablecloth. It was a mistake. Then I got nervous and spilled my chocolate milk in the floor vent. It was an accident. Never mind. Here is something else for you:
A laser shot straight and true
Dimpled white ball tearing into the blue
Landing near the pin and sticking like glue
Bringing joy and happiness to the Country Club Jew”
“You drink chocolate milk? Your first Ode was better.”
“It was really bourbon. But bourbon and paper snow flakes would probably stretch the bounds of credulity. The name of the poem is ‘Ode to the Links.’ You prefer the first one because you like a good sandwich, or perhaps it’s simply a reflection of your root Anti-Semitism.”
“A meatball parm is a good sandwich. A Reuben is better. Does thinking that Joe Lieberman is a putz make me Anti-Semitic?”
“You bring up an interesting point. Try this on for size. You know the sandwich, now experience Reuben: the Haiku!
Piled high lean corned beef
Swiss, ‘kraut and Russian Dressing
Inside heaven’s gates
I think this was one of my best poems. It really captures the form… concise, crisp and excellent imagery. I submitted it to the New Yorker; but it was rejected. I think that Lieberman is a putz, too. A putz and a sanctimonious wind bag.”
“Haiku? A Reuben Haiku?! And Ode to a Meatball Parm? This is culinary pornography. I have to begin my work day… I am glad that you have time to indulge in your poetic fantasies; but I have to make a living. Lieberman is a dangerous wind bag.”
“Does that mean that you don’t have time for my ‘Sonnet to George Bush’s Last Day in Office?'”
“Sonnet? You really wrote a Sonnet?”
“No. Not exactly. I haven’t mastered that literary form yet. I working on it though. I am reviewing what Iambic Pentameter means… I’ll do some training, then watch out!”
“I don’t think that Shakespeare has to worry.”
“I think that Shakespeare gave up worrying 400 years ago. Go to work. You can repay me for giving your life a literary uplift by buying dinner and drinks the next time.”