Let's see how much time I've got here.
Not much.
I'll throw in a couple of things here
simply because I like them, and in order
to give me an excuse to give you another quote, which
I like very much.
The first of these poems is about the great losers
of the world who are considered evil.
And Ramakrishna once said when he was asked, "God being good,
why did He create evil?"
And he said, "To thicken the plot."
I think this is a really marvelous thing.
So I have written a poem about the plot thickeners,
and it's broken some of my own rules.
The first stanza involves several quasi, pseudo,
semi-literary references, which I apologize for.
I don't like that sort of thing, but these are so simple.
I don't think you'd have any trouble
except with the first one, which might not be familiar,
especially to the women in the audience.
The first one is the girl in the high-heeled shoes.
I think men who've been in barracks or dormitory
would recognize this.
It's the old saying--
I think it's British.
Here's to the girl in the high-heeled shoes.
She spends your money and drinks your booze,
and then goes home to her mother's flat.
Stingy, stingy, stingy.
And then there's a reference in it
to the sparrow who admitted everything
who is, of course, the one who said, "I killed Cock
Robin with my bow and arrow.
I, said the sparrow."
That reference, and then there's a garbled one,
which won't give you any trouble, which
is "the face that sank a thousand ships."
And I have LD Clark to thank for that.
I heard him misquote that one time.
Of course, it's supposed to be "the face that
launched a thousand ships."
But the results when he said it were quite devastating
because he was talking about somebody
on the stage portraying Helen of Troy at that moment.
[LAUGHTER]
It's called "A Toast."
It isn't very long.
Here's to the girl in the high-heeled shoes.
The dog in the manger, the sparrow
who admitted everything, the face that sank a thousand
ships, the village idiot, the farmer's daughter,
the good men who did not come to the aid of their country,
and Judas Iscariot.
Whose names are passwords into the House of Scandal, who
caught the brass ring of guilt and could never let go.
For you, the clock on the tower faces both ways.
And every day the roller coaster says, "Here we go again."
As my mistakes line up in readiness,
and I know I will need them, I look back and salute you
with your reasons.
Let my words be scars on the page, which each of us
can translate into his own pain, and enjoy it, enjoy it.
I drink to your calumny who had only one ore
and traveled in circles.
You were there when they built the sea of regret.
And every night, you return to find it waiting.