Speaking of Eliot…

The Love Song of J. Alfred Fan

Time to go, then, don’t you think,
While the Zamboni smooths the ice upon the rink,
Like a patient waitress, polishing her table;
Let us go, through crowd-congested streets,
The deep bass thumping beats
Of restless SUV’s in left turn-only lines
And sawhorse barriers with detour signs
Signs we follow like merging congregants
Towards the south side entrance
To lead us to an overwhelming question …
Oh, do not ask, “Who will win?”
Let us buy our tickets and go in.

In the arena patrons come and go
Talking of Razor and Big Joe.

And this:
I should have been a pair of ragged claws
Scuttling across the floors of silent seas.

is turned to this:
Maybe I’ll buy a big foam claw
And wave it in the air to cheer the B’s.

Parodies slay me.