Poem Written on the Eve of Richard Wagner's Two-hundredth Birthday

It’s funny how we celebrate
on blogs, Facebook
and other media
the things we love –
Bach, Beethoven,
the Beatles,
spaghetti bolognese,
Sancerre,
Dickens, Dostoyevsky,
Delacroix –
and hardly ever headline
what we hate.

Not that being positive
is wrong:
far from it.
Positive is good.
It’s good to praise
the things we love
which give us succour
and delight.

Nonetheless,
I think it does
no harm, occasionally,
to reveal
what gives us gyp,
the flip
side of the coin,
the dark
side of the moon,
admit our blind spots,
say what makes
our flesh creep,
makes us weep.

And so
instead of pro
here’s con:
I give you
Bill Bryson.

I’d never raise a bet
on saucisse andouillette.

Also, can’t take a shine
to New World wine.

And cursed,
the very worst,
are Damien Hirst

and Wagner.

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