One thought on “LEON FREILICH: COME BE OTBKB’S POET LAUREATE”

1. Thanks for the invitation. I’ll be happy to contribute, Louise. But please don’t call me poet laureate. Only my mother does–and it’s embarrassing in front of the other kids.
   If you like you can pick up the thing I wrote an hour ago on Gawker about Gersh’s world-famous ankle woe. Or did you see that, even before I wrote it? I’m told you’re psychic.
   A starter, about that inane asylum to which I belong.
   BALLAD OF THE FOOD COOP FROG
   He tagged along as the member took
   Her head of lettuce home;
   Among the green organic leaves
   He quietly chanted Om.
   For three cold days he went on chanting,
   Napping now and then
   And wondering if he’d ever see
   His Florida pals again.
   The member had taken the tiny frog
   Across the Carroll Street Bridge
   And reaching her kitchen, had transferred
   Her Coop food to the fridge.
   Till now he’d basked beneath the sun,
   Floating on a lucky tide,
   Escaping certain painful death
   By fatal pesticide.
   The third day on his frozen shelf,
   He replaced his chant with a yelp,
   And Om gave way to urgency,
   For Froggie needed help.
   It came at last, when just in time,
   He found his lettuce haven
   Withdrawn by a knowing hand and placed
   In a bowl by a salad maven.
   The member’s eyes doubled in size
   And yet she had no regret
   As she spied her guest and marveled, How
   Organic does it get!
   Past shock on her part, relief on his,
   Froggie no longer drifts;
   He’s joined the Coop and shops in peace–
   As long as he does his shifts.
   –Again, thanks for the invitation.
   Leon

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