Yet Another Example of My Crappy High School Poetry

Well, whoop-de-do, everybody! It’s time to indulge that most American of pastimes, ridiculing things we don’t understand. And trust me: no one understood me in high school.

No one, that is, except David Letterman. I discovered his Late Night with David Letterman when I was around 12 or so, and thereafter I watched it whenever I could. I know, I know, it’s hard to believe now, but seriously: David Letterman used to be funny. I’m not kidding! Anyway, David Letterman had such an impact on me that I penned this clumsy ode to his show, “Meditations on a Late Night.”

Hey, my high school days weren’t all about pining for unattainable cheerleaders with mall bangs. They were also, apparently, about embarassing devotion to a gap-toothed goofball on the television.

I can’t decide which is worse.

worst. zen koans. ever.

Meditations on a Late Night

A journey through New York can be
A tiring thing, for I — I –
I don’t know. Kevin. should we do that one?
One hour in Paradise, transported
Two thousand miles away in no time –
Do we have time for this one?
Letter number one begins: Dear Dave. I — I –
I sense the presence of things unreal –
Real –
And if they weren’t real, would I be able to do this?
This time, people unseen will laugh.
Next time, maybe no - -
Paul. you really should have come to rehearsal.
Sense makes no sense here, in a
World with no direction –
Uh Dave, that’s Gurnee.
A chorus of broken glass beats in rhythm –
Signaling the end of an era of an hour –
Late at Night.


  • Let’s just come right out and say it: This poem is so terrible it makes me wish I had written “She #6″ instead. It’s just a bunch of stuff that Dave used to say and do on his show, crudely strung together with non-sequiturs. It’s horribly dated–unless you were reading this in 1987 and you were also a Letterman fan at the time, it can’t possibly make a lick of sense.
  • Meditations, eh? Could you imagine meditating on this to try to achieve nirvana or inner peace or whatever it is those weirdos do? I imagine it would leave you the metaphysical equivalent of Larry “Bud” Melman.
  • Wait a minute… I didn’t mention Larry “Bud” Melman. Not even once. I wrote a “poem” musing on ’80s-era David Letterman and I didn’t bring up Larry “Bud” Melman?! What the heck was wrong with me?
  • Don’t answer that.
  • Anyway: RIP CALVERT DEFOREST 1921 – 2007
  • See how I repeated that “One?” line? Yep, I sure did that for some reason.
  • I grew up in Arkansas, so excuse my geographical ignorance. The distance from Little Rock to New York City is roughly 1200 miles, not 2000.
  • “Sense makes no sense here” — you said it, brother.

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