What’s Your Question

Hawkshaw McClarty sports a happy face,

And his high-hat attire is never a disgrace.

He flits about hither, thither and there

Spreading gossipy tidbits like party fare,

This bell-ringer quidnunc extraordinaire

Shares pre evidence with gusto and flare.

He delivers the facts deaf to remonstrance.

His verbiage leaves no minutiae to chance.

The metaphors echo with verisimilitude;

And even to the oblivious, he’s never rude.

How a boy, 11, won three college degrees,

How the mayor’s cat is infested with fleas,

How shrewish first lady sweeps the knees --

He recounts these conclusions foregone.

If the hour permits, he can run on and on.

At the pub he will talk till his throat is dry,

Then wait for a setup, whetting wry with rye.

Don’t ask where Sookie acquired that fez

Nor why the preacher phoned about Inez.

Hawkshaw parades his eloquent oration

With heaping helping of disambiguation.

Author's Note

My late Grandpa inspires many of my fictionalized reminiscences. He loved to indulge his talent for recounting family history during the old couple's Sunday Social crowd. And, all the while Granny, the family historian, kept his biographicals honest.

Reviews

[Betty Hermelee]

I know many people like this; they love to ramble and much of it is all screwed up, partially correct; They take tidbits form that time or another and sort of string them together, which means no one gets a chance to talk... or even ask a question. I like how you described him and all the minutiae that he rambles about... and the rhyme is very clever.
Best, B

[John the Baptist]

I think this fellow has a great future in politics.

[bigfootprint]

Maybe. Although, today's political hacks have drowned the old lexicon in Marxist dialectic.

[bigfootprint]

Thanks everyone for your wise and your playful comments. I enjoyed writing that piece very much.