Let’s hear it for Alphonso,

going home at last,

goddamn him anyway.

Let’s hear it for Alphonso.

He had a form for everything,

the inside track.

Need a mattress or a fan?

See Alphonso.

He’ll get it for twenty-five.

Got a bronze star yet?

See Alphonso.

He’ll write the commendation.

Want a dozen steaks or a Red Cross girl?

See Alphonso.

He’ll arrange it.

One more time for little Alphonso.

He had all the right forms.

But one.


Contents / Next Poem / Published Works