The Time Traveler’s Lament
by Marvin Rabinovitch
I never saw a sight so gross:
Men of the future plake their throes.
And even do so (without shame)
Out in the open anverd’raim.
Who’d have thought they’d dirigeyj
When my chron-boat reached their age?
It was enough to make you blanch
To see them prilg on ripe gebontsh.
Their women dared me, with sweet smiles,
To join them in the Jarkle trials.
I didn’t see the harm in it –
Oh, stupid me! They crushed my fliit.
(I never knew I had a fliit
Until the trials of Jarkle month.
And now I miss it, more than Xlyth
Did ever miss her vanished Qlaunce.)
The tears I wept, my wracking sobs
Became a general source of mirth;
They thought that I’d contracted kurr’ththe
And just refused to take my guawbz.
Anon it seemed the worst had passed.
I was invited to a scrast.
It turned into a ledrogar.
Oh, Brope! Now all I do is flaur.
At last they invoked Grundleshede,
Who made me leave with javil speed.
Coeval friends, why do you stare?
Is there still bimka in my hair?
After 40 years of toiling in the vineyards of technical documentation, Marvin Rabinovitch is now enjoying life after employment on a comfortable pension and the proceeds of a part-time gig as a columnist on high-tech developments for a local monthly magazine, The Cutting Edge (a rough translation). In addition, he continues to bombard periodicals both electronic and print with short stories, articles, and verse, and scored most recently last December with a piece entitled Judah the Macabee and the Ultimate Triumph of the Toiling Masses for an anthology of fiction by Canadian writers, Beneath the Canopy. To relax and socialize, he hangs out online with his buds in a special interest group for Shakespeare lovers, bardolatry.com, affiliated with MENSA International.
Poem © 2010 Marvin Rabinovitch. All other content copyright © 2010 Abyss & Apex Publishing.
Copyrighted by the author unless otherwise noted.
Art Director: Bonnie Brunish