As a great poet once wrote: Remember remember the first of September...
And so it is that we find ourselves here on September First—with the brisk tendrils of winter beginning to encroach upon the warmth of summer—having to pick winners for our annual poetry contest. Admittedly, this is one of the more trivial of mayoral duties, however I approach all of them with the solemnity that they deserve.
When Ms. Twombley asked me to judge this year’s poetry contest, believe me, I had the greatest of expectations. But leave it to the citizens of this town to once again disappoint beyond all reason.
The 3rd place winner is definitely better than most of the rest, many of which were maudlin, unoriginal, and really much too long. Also very few of these rhymed for some reason I cannot understand. As I think most of us know, all of the world’s greatest poems rhyme. Thankfully, this one does. For the most part.
I now present the 3rd place poem by a writer only known as F (thanks to my fourth State of Question Mark Address, you already know my thoughts on individuals who refer to themselves solely by single letters):
the Verdant lawn and clean-swept street,
where Industry and nature meet.
Out the window, a lone white deer:
there is something missing here.
Lights at night and clocks unwound,
and through it all a distant sound.
the End itself is drawing near:
There is something missing here.