A jolly lyric, a panegyric, to praise one of Boston's best.
You're the Top (pt. 1 of 2)
You're the top, you're a mackerel holy,
you're a stop by the Bruins goalie:
you're a beauty queen, you're the leafy green of Spring;
you're a live third rail, and you never fail
to make me sing!
You're a dream, and you drive me loco,
you're the steam from a cup of cocoa --
I'm a reckless guy just arrested by a cop:
Signorina, I'm the bottom. You're the top!
You're as fine as a gin martini,
you're a line penned by Seamus Heaney --
you're a candle-wick, you're a Bergman flick at Cannes:
you're a silver platter, a Pollock splatter,
You're so sweet, you're a comic hero --
you're a treat, but I'm close to zero.
I'm a bloke benighted, a withered blighted crop:
I'm a dweller of the cellar -- you're the top!
You're the top, you're Michelle Obama;
you're the top, you're the Dalai Lama:
you're a red balloon, you're a '60s tune on "Glee" --
you're a jazzy jitney, you're a song by Whitney,
you're a liturgy!
You're a blast from an angel's bugle,
you're as fast as a search by Google!
I'm a dying ember, a cold November gray --
but you're funny, you're the sunny month of May!
Poetry by Thomas DeFreitas
Read 193 times
Written on 2017-06-01 at 01:40
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by Thomas DeFreitas