Who'll Be Chief Scorner?
Who'll be chief mourner?
I, said the Dove.
Who Killed Cock Robin?
Who'll be chief scorner?
I, said the Critic,
With barbs analytic,
I'll be chief scorner.
Who'll settle the will?
I, said the Lawyer.
Ms. Thrush? I'll destroy her.
Then I'll send in my bill.
Who'll write the obit?
I, quacked the Hack.
I, who know jack,
I'll write the obit.
Who says, I told you so?
I, said the Teacher.
Me and the Preacher,
We told him so.
Who'll gloat without shame?
The Angler affirms:
He stole my worms;
I'll gloat without shame.
Who'll sully his name?
I, cried the Prude.
His very name's rude,
Yet he ducked all blame.
Who'll build on his grave?
I, said Big Business.
Progress is progress.
We'll build and we'll pave.
Who'll rub out all trace?
I, said Fox Robin.
No sense in sobbin'.
Gone to ground's no disgrace.
by Dan Campion
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Dan Campion is the author of Peter De Vries and Surrealism (Bucknell University Press) and coeditor of Walt Whitman: The Measure of His Song (Holy Cow! Press) and has contributed poems to Able Muse, Light, Measure, Poetry, and many other magazines and anthologies. He lives in Iowa City, Iowa.