and, by “person,” do we mean a human?
As I’m sure my dog’s a merry hail-fellow,
who could tell a houndish hootish tale,
but I doubt he can hold his licker,
it's plagued him most his life.
And by “like,” and “most” do we mean a doppelganger?
As a agreeable as they come, to every sworled finger,
but a drag at parties, and too much close to home;
as for “like,” I’m sure I’ll like any likely
liker alike the likes of which bear no likeness liken me.
And by “drink,” well, what really can I say?
I can pass for a year past my age,
if I didn’t shave two days,
and quoted pithy quotes: Elvis, Perec, John Cage;
but they’d card a barstool
if it hadn’t sat so still all day,
and not seemed so eager,
despite the risk,
for a taste of any action,
so as to hide beneath the bar.
But the American way, ever right, ever feared, as ever, is yet:
“Don’t trust anyone under 30.”