pretending to be Voltaire

at least

i have this feeling

and it's not in my underwear!

the important paper was eaten by my dog

when she was pretending to be Voltaire.

running into a golden French sunset

looking for a dime,

out of sorts but within the limits of her time,

she was advocating for free speech

while trying not to preach.

she kept writing about separation;

i stayed busy with preparation

in my old fashioned way,

listening to critics but wanting to have my own say.

the weight i tried to lift seemed hard.

i asked the dealer for another card

like i knew what i was doing,

but i failed.

my dog tried to save me but she was jailed

for criticizing the king

and his entire royal court,

including his Queen

and his favorite consort.

they all happened to be Catholic but it didn't matter:

the church and state were the same,

and neither felt any shame

for jailing a dog and burying her favorite bone

which everyone knew

she liked to chew.

the successful attempt to free my dog

was made one night in dense fog

when the two guards were asleep at their post:

i crept past them both like an earthly ghost.

finally, we were united again and out the prison door,

to look for the Pantheon cemetery in Paris,

somewhere in the Latin Quarter, we heard.

and when we arrived,

we learned someone else had the final word.

at least

i have this feeling

and it's not in my underwear!

the important paper was eaten by my dog

when she was pretending to be Voltaire.