Rhymes with Tarp

Here’s one I got off the restroom wall of a fat-joint over in Cityville:

“He who carps and skips away
lives to carp another day. 
He who carps and splits with grace
lives to carp some other place. 
But, he who carps ‘til he’s a bore,
may not live to carp no more – maybe.”

As a desperate, final, fall-back-reserve, everybody should have at least one hobby they got no interest in, dammit!

I heard a mechanic tell a City guy that the “Portable Tire Inflator Kit” he had in his trunk “wasn’t worth a damn,” and “wouldn’t get the job done,” and the guy said it didn’t really matter since he always calls for help when he has a flat, but that he just “felt better” knowing he had it along.  (Talk about your inadvertent, greasy metaphysics.)

Only a Real Revolutionist can picture external matters that have no natural inner models.

Has there ever been a City poet who wrote more than a dozen lines, who has not again noted for man that, “What is done is done…and the past cannot be rewound.”  Is that apparent truism so hard to be possible?

The more interest/energy-producing is the contrast, the more likely it is to consume the participants, if not by-standers.  (Thus hermits, and some would-be “holy men” seek an insulation.)

J.

J.