After mentioning 'Nihil Crocodile' in the last post, I thought to dig out this old bit of poem that's never been posted here before:
As I drifted down the muddy stream
of consciousness, a Nihil Crocodile
surfaced by my flimsy boat of dream
and, asking me if we might talk a while,
pontificated, shedding bogus tears,
on books and music and the latest style.
Ad nauseam, he criticized his peers;
we floated on, mile after murky mile.
“I admit to hating all things new;
it is my job,” he told me, “as a critic.
Though truly, I dislike the old stuff too–
so I don’t bother being analytic.”
He dove then, stating as if well-intentioned,
“I hope my words have proven catalytic.”
But had he smaller teeth I would have mentioned
he came off as no more than parasitic.
Stephen Brooke ©2002