Thursday, September 20, 2007
You, John Spice*, with your Rhode Island laissez faire.
You sit up front, quiet as the night begins,
I don't have to wait long before the silence ends
"Do I hear a motion," the councilor says, and your arm shoots up in the air,
Voting will have to wait; you've got something you need to share.
I sit up in my chair and wait for you to get to the mic,
The words that come next will inevitably make my night:
"I'm Roman Catholic, I wasn't prepared for this...I would definitely tax them," you say about a church looking for a break;
An ordinance on windmills is a good idea, you say because: "It's about protecting the people. Protecting the pedestrians. And our swimming pools."
Oh, John Spice, how I love you.
Spicey boy, with your sweeping arm jerks and unmoderated outbursts
You make my meeting go by so much quicker.
And your smokers cough? It couldn't get much thicker.
When I'm bored, I just take a glance at you,
With your rumpled sweatshirt and sockless shoes.
You never match.
I love that.
A guy like you has no precedent,
John Spice, you're my new favorite resident.
*Name has been changed to protect the innocent.continue...