My note to White Castle, sent 8/23/1996:
Dearest White King, Ever-Seated on the White Throne,
A Poet I am, a passionate man.
I shall feast on your rations, while expressing my passions.
I earn almost nil, and shan’t pay my bills.
My given name Larry, my poems please don’t bury.
An artist by choice, a man with a voice
For hunger and strife, but not the ex-wife.
She will scrape for her own since she left me alone.
I break my morning fast, devouring your vast
Early morning fare. I breathe the fresh air.
At lunch, I disperse, and break from my verse,
With thoughts of fervor, I indulge in your burger.
By dinnertime no longer can I restrain my hunger
For burgers and fries, my certain demise.
My puzzle is this: Your food I would miss,
If my Uncle Sam sent me off to war,
Banishment and exile forevermore.
But respond if you dare-if I order one rare,
Will you betray our love, taking flight like a dove.
While I like rare tissue, it's always an issue.
With physicians, those clowns. Surgeon General, pipe down!
For life with scorched meat, the unthinkable feat,
Is to live not at all, unwinged, but to crawl.
For a life minus red, is life that is dead.
My question for you, what shall I do?
Should I grill my own, oh King of White Throne?
Or shall you decide to serve me raw hide,
I hope your decree will make me happy.
Just one other item, if you please. I humbly inquire of your decree:
For my great attempt at this confounded sonnet,
Free Coupons for your food, I need them, I want it!
Time for My Slider, Another All-Nighter...
Jerry
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No Reply
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My Follow-up, sent 10/23/1996:
Oh Dearest Unresponsive King Ever-Seated on the White Throne,
There are a deuce more than three things that do annoy me.
To begin with the first, and certainly not worst
When some man named Russ climbs into the bus
And makes us all repent with his offensive scent
Like three-day old chili --it seems a bit silly.
Offense number two, is from me to you.
Newscasters who always like to brag “you heard it here first,” what a drag!
The third thing is, of course, the Grand Equestrian Horse
Who does all of the work so the Jockey, that jerk
Can stand up and boast “Gold Medal! Let’s Toast!
And send poor old “Skies’o’Blue” to the place where they make glue.
Offense number four, I cannot ignore.
To order rare steak, please make no mistake
And send it well-done.
Your tip shall be none!
Offense number five, no kidding, no jive
To ignore me and my letter as though you are so much better.
So get off the chair and fix this dispair
You caused by neglect and do not reject
This poet’s polite request for only the very best--
This poet’s polite request for only the very best--
Free food at White Castle with no more such hassle.
My question I repeat--Can I order rare meat?
If no answer shall you write, it will be with great despite
That nobody knows, I’ll break into prose.
Rhymes a Second Time,
Jerry
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Kate kelly's response, dated 11/14/1996:
Dear Jerry,
Thank you so much for your great poems that you wrote to White Castle. We always appreciate hearing from our more creative White Castle Cravers!
Because of your interest in White Castle and your obvious passion for our hamburgers, we are inducting you into our White Castle “Official Craver Club.” Enclosed is your certificate to that effect.
We apologize for not responding sooner, and again, sincerely appreciate your interest in White Castle and its products. Please enjoy the enclosed coupons.
Sincerely,
Kate Kelley
Marketing Coordinator
Cc: K. Bartley
D. Cline
Enclosures: 4
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My response, sent 11/18/1996:
Dearest King of the Slider, the Fried Clam, and the Mozzarella Stick:
I do humbly thank your pearly-white palace
For making me feel the absence of malice.
For fortifying my regimen with burgers of nine,
At no further cost to me, not a quarter, not a dime.
I will remember always, the kind gesture and deed,
The gift of nine free sliders to a poet in need.Accompanied by free fries,
A poet cannot disguise
His feelings of leverage
Burgers! Fries! And Beverage!
The ex-wife will toss and turn in her lonely bed at night--
Friend of the Court can’t touch this--not a burger, not a bite.
And thanks for the certificate inducting me in your club.
I feel like I belong--How’s about I give you a back rub?
Don’t get me wrong--It is not boys I like,
It’s tall blonde women in spandex on bikes.
I just feel so lucky to be accepted by the King,
I feel as though I could fly but instead I shall sing
Praises to you, the almighty chosen one--
King of the cure to too much beer and gin and rum.
King of the eternal Slider,
A pause for the Midnight Rider,
In a word, thank you for always being brave.
For providing Americans with what they crave!
Poetically Yours,
Jerry
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