By Irving Vanderblock-Wheedle.

The pounding of my eardrum in the morning
As if a ten-year-old percussionist
With dreams of playing for the Rolling Stones
Were living in my ear and practicing
And hoping against hope that he would be
Discovered in his aural practice room
By agents from a record company
That went extinct in 1969
Suggests that next time someone says, “Drink up!
You only go round once!” I ought to say,
“I plan to go round several thousand times,
Metempsychosis willing, and I think
I should consider what my future lives
Will think of me, and in particular
The future life I plan to live tomorrow.”