Don Juan, Continued

Canto the XVIIth

Southern California

O Byron, Byron, Lord, you've long been dead

And left Don Juan in an incomplete state.

Be thou my Muse so that I can do cred-

it to his spirit--e'en at this late date.

So Hail, O Muse! et cetera, (as you've said,)

And if your soul be still around, then may't

Help me to be not ineffectual
In this attempt to resurrect him all

A-visiting the twentieth-century world.

Of course I would not steal him from your hearse

(Make him at most an imitation cold);

But start off with his name, your tone, your verse,

And let these sources lead me where they would.

Where e'er it was you left him, 'twon't be a curse

To throw him into Southern California--
Though quite a change for poor D.J., I warn you.

Lord Byron lived in early eighteen-O-O's;

While Juan, he must have lived some time ere-thence,

(Or no later)--Imagine what his woes,

Confusions, gaffes, in trying to make sense

Of free behavior, scanty modern clothes,

And strict & stern political correctness.

--Enough! Let's end this introduction
Forthwith--On to the next seduction!

Don Juan, in sports car low and red and fast

(A Porsche)--like Byron if he were alive--

(Just for the record, what about the rest?

Wordsworth a Volvo grey and staid would drive,

As Shelley's yacht Black Magic races past;

While Southey in a Chrysler van would give

His family a ride, as home he wends;
And Coleridge just bums rides from his friends.)

                5

As I was saying, old Don Juan, he drove.

Where'd he acquire this talent, you may ask?

A minor technicality--he roves,

That's that! And neither was he old. Don't task

Me, please, with more explaining, as he wove

His way, dear Reader, down the road. One last

Request: the willed suspension of belief
That constitutes the fictional relief ;-)

To San Diego driving down Route Five,

A freeway it's called, but--what's this he sees?

An immigration checkpoint: ``What? Oh, I've

Got nothing to declare but just my pleas-

ing self,'' says Juan with Spanish eyes alive.

His papers?--just the dead Lord B.'s IDs ...

So fakes a British accent most superior,
To bluff him past officials Interior.

If Byron were the author, here he'd drown

Us in detail (twelve verses, maybe four),

Describing how Don Juan arrived in town.

Precisely what he saw and heard, how sore

(To numerous digressions he was prone),

His troubles with the traffic--this and more--

All'd be told. But none have patience now, or can't
Afford the time to read.--And so I shan't!

In spite of brake lights near the jamméd Merge,

Sev'ral wrong turns, and dodging a rogue tank,

At last he turns to meet the Ocean's surge.

He parks, descends La Jolla's cliffs so swank,

Then starts disrobing 'cause he had an urge

To swim as was his wont, his mind a blank

Until he's startled by a mother's screech:
``Oh, no! Not here! You must go to Black's Beach!''

``What now? Oh most unusual!--No one's nude,''

He thinks, ``How diff'rent from the time in which

I last lived.'' Well! He'd no wish to be rude,

If t'was forbidden not to wear a stitch.

He'll ask directions from that surfer dude,

So blond & bronze (a real son of the beach

He seemed), who said to walk up north a ways,
Where swimming suits are options now-a-days.

A ``suit''? That's what they call those tiny things?

He writes: ``Mem: suit, small clothes'' in his note book.

Now men wear more, and women less!--mere strings!

And in mixed company! (...He stole a look.)

Up to the north end of Black's Beach he swings--

There only men--it seemed he'd found his nook;

But ere he'd time to exercise his option,
All whistled and re-dressed-- For lo! a cop's come.

                unnumbered

Romantic poets mentioned oft the wind,

But always rhymed the ``wind'' with words like ``twined''.

They never used what we would think a kind-

red word--it's clear that that rhyme came to mind.

I've not found one exception. So, who's sinned?

Did Americans the language so unwind?

Or is it they who must say ``Peccavi!''
For making rhymes so unimpeccably?

                to be continued...