La trentième année de mon âge
1992 was a hairy ass,
so said the Queen,
and the headlines read
CLINTON LICKS BUSH
but we already knew that.
During the fourth consulship of Frutex and Coturnix
The Council approved for our table
chalupas, focaccia, portobello mushrooms, and broccoli rabe,
but not potatoe,
and for our wardrobe
wider ties, flannel, 1970s retro, and grunge,
but I’m too sexy for my shirt.
It sanctioned the Electric Slide for white people.
We had jungle fever, and Sex was canned,
but Masters and Johnson were divided
on the issue of marriage.
Tomba prevailed on the slopes without falling.
The Blue Angel, fallen, ascended to Heaven.
The High Priest Caiaphas is resurrected.
Annas is not.
1992 was a horrible ass.
NOTE: On November 24, 1992, Queen Elizabeth II of England gave a speech at Guildhall, in which she said, "1992 is not a year I shall look back on with undiluted pleasure. In the words of one of my more sympathetic correspondents, it has turned out to be an annus horribilis."
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
No comments:
Post a Comment