Poetry schmoetry

So I tried to bring just a little smidgen of beauty into this drab, dreary and decidedly unpretty blog. Might as well have been giving a pedicure to the pitbull. That bastard (R)uffda! says I can only write about volleyball! The philistine.

Don’t get me wrong. I like volleyball just as much as the next dog. Maybe more. But there is more to Life than volleyball. There’s meals, for instance. And chasing sticks. And HBO. There’s also poetry.

The pesky squirrel in my tree
pesters
chatters
flings his nuts

While the hitter from USC
giggles
whispers
calls for huts

So what’s new in the world of volleyball this week? Beerman and Acosta are toast and the U.S. Men won the Four Nations Tournament in Leipzig, Germany. Did you know the name Leipzig is derived from a Slavic word, lipsk, which means “settlement where the linden trees stand”? Bach used to hang out there, and Wagner was born there. I’m not saying that any of this played any sort of role in Team USA’s triumph, but it does give one pause to think, especially since Beijing is also derived from a Slavic word, and Bach and Wagner were each fond of Chinese takeout.

I leave you with one further thought: Sean Rooney reminds me of someone.