364 days a year, I am honest and forthright. Many call me a straight shooter. They’re misinformed as I’m a gay shooter. Regardless, I can be relied on to tell the truth during 99.9% of the year. (My math cannot be more specific.)
Annually, I plan for enjoying with relish that 365th day of the year when I can lie with abandon. I can fib, make up stories, and misrepresent myself intentionally, willy nilly without remorse. This is that day. A mere pandemic has wrecked my plans.
Because I know we are all keyed up, subjected to unscrupulous, powerful people the other 364 days, I am volunteering to stand down. Please don’t take this as a generous action. I just don’t want to have my pranksterism spill beyond my 365th day.
To honor this, I’ve dug up an old poem. It is written in the venerable Barbarian poetry style.
April 1
This is the past voice from April one
You thought I’d forgot, you son of a gun.
This little poem is to tell you how
I so appreciate you, especially now.
When I need a little time to talk
You listen kindly and don’t tell me to walk.
We all have our meetings and quietly chuckle
Instead of crying and biting our knuckle.
So be happy and celebrate this very fine day
It’s exactly one month before the beginning of May.
Joceile
4/1/2004
Moore Barbarian poetry can be found at: https://joceilemoore.blogspot.com/
[Don't blame me if your eyes bleed.]
[Picture of April 1 circled on calendar with cat and dog picture.]
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