Undercover At The Faculty Club

Joel Banner Baird recites his composition memorializing early exploits of the three kings. read along as shown below.. He also plays bass, while jhaffur khan azad darakth, adds percussion and keyboard accompaniment. UNDERCOVER AT THE FACULTY CLUB Incognito in or out of costume vagabonds uninvited and yet so very much at ease at minimum moreso than those for whom party-time protocols dissolve in alcohol and torsos invitees disguised among savage intramural fantasies scarves and the scent of licensed misbehaving what happens here stays here professor what happens here stays here masked and feathered a fetching, frisky doctorate in French never-minds her manners “Darren-darling, is that you?” the height and carriage exactly right so bold of him: in ladies’ sunglasses marvelous, marveilleux nod and sang-froid this Darren /not-Darren ascot and elan a preposterous silent, affable tease professor presses closer almost-almost but not-Darren/Darren momentarily blind flips a coin “Excuse me hmmm humm,” half-chortle half-chewed he swallows and surveils the baa-ing mob of highbrow jive smears of jazz-light on the hi-fi our hero’s ears ring and quail he pales will he falter will he faint? to himself he moans: “no, not-Darren, no! rotate and re-join your two confrères at the well-appointed table at the pre-appointed time stand up to the buffet stand by bolt meaty dainties down sparky punch pocket wads of crudités and starch” for soon they cross the border merriment of a sort poses learned and learnéd so far so giddy good so far so giddy good thrift-shop mufti pants-seat pilfer insinuate and feast at the heart of hilarity until — intrusions of boozy rumors spill sinister stage whisper “Are they one of us?” “Are they one of us?” no one knows a tenured chair of a big-league sub-committee most alert to caste and type-cast hypothesizes thus: “an unknown number of unknowns have stained our night sophomoric duplicity! audacity! mimicry! shame!” in carnival consensus the elders gird their glands to force our unwashed hands a trio of twin-eyes dart pupils wide with adrenaline arrested by a whisper Kimberly clings and breathes “You three must stay until the crazy games” she can’t of course know the jig is rigged-up the game’s insane by secret signal it’s beat it gents high-tail highway in a fugue: “yes-of-course-the-games of-course-the-games of-course-of-course regret-of-course-the-games” “eh. eh. eh” they shrug “eh. eh. eh.” behind tattered veils sashaying with eddies of caterered empty trays backstage to club kitchen where oddly, oddly it’s never too late for hymns: “bless, bless the loyal lower loyalties the light-fingered fellowship of hired-help mercenaries bless these angel partisans for the skin they save amen” in rented uniforms in character in poker-face muster as if by prior plan the saviors form a funnel to thereby steer, pour and exfiltrate via service door we three we three kings. \ March2023