The New Year babe returned last night,
And commenced pounding on my door.
I did not turn on the porch light,
I hoped he'd pound his knuckles sore.
It's been three years since he last called
To bolster thoughts of fame and wealth,
My great elation then was stalled;
I kicked him damaging his health.
So why I wondered was he back,
Could he have conjured up a tale,
Or was this diapered one on crack?
If so I'd send him off to jail.
He told me that a piece I wrote
Would find its way soon into print,
And said he would not "get my goat";
In his small eyes there was a glint.
I think I will believe his tale,
At least I'll try a while this year,
But if like '02 this does fail,
I have a gun that he will hear.
F. A. Zedik
01-01-06