Air, Conditioned

Air, Conditioned
by Dennis Held

I am dry, I am droll
And that’s just how I roll:
Call me Billy.

I’m not mad, I’m not bleak
I’ve a Frenchman’s physique,
I’m not silly.

I like gin, I like jazz
You can take what I has–
That’s just me.

You won’t mind what I write
And if it’s patently trite,
We’ll agree.

I can toss this stuff off
I don’t work for no boss
I am poemy.

And if you pay my fee
My verse isn’t free:
Nor me.