Having Fought Not Well

Name it, my friend, by now bin there done that:

the lemon twist, the word of naked truth,

the subtle thrust, faint hint of dry vermouth,

the latest insight, (where it’s really at!).

The tux, the tails, the single, double breast

I knew them well; drank deep, gulped down the froth

fought my losing battle with the word of Wrath

with medals of excess upon my chest.

And now, what I would say is all but said,

keen, the battle I would fight is ended.

My horizontal tilts , my straight is bended.

Surprise! The enemy is also dead.

Gone that mediocrity, that venue.

Look! Another foe is on the menu.