Creature Comforts: Inspirations from Mother Nature by Dexter Fry

HarperCollins New Zealand, Hardcover, $30. Reviewed (in verse) by Craig Ranapia

Once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered, weak and weary,
Over many a quaint and curious volume of forgotten lore —
While I nodded, nearly napping, in a nest of Christmas wrapping,
I heard one gently rapping, rapping at my chamber door.
“Too much coffee,” I muttered, “tapping at my chamber door?
I’ll finish this and nothing more.”

Ah, distinctly I remember it was in the bleak December;
All those shopping days I squandered, procrastinated ever more.
Eagerly I wished the morrow; — inspiration for the morrow,
Find a book to beg, or borrow — a present for my Aunt Lenore —
For the near-impossible, reluctant reader named Lenore —
Never pleased for evermore.

Deep into that darkness peering, long I stood there wondering, fearing,
Anticipating over eating, getting drunk, emotional weeping;
And the silence all unbroken, when I should have stuck with a gift token,
And the only words there spoken were “Chocolates once more?”
This I whispered, and an echo murmured “Chocolates once more?” —
Merely this and nothing more.

IN despair I flung the shutter, when, with many a yelp and clutter,
In there stepped a way cute Puppy with DNA set for “adore”;
Not the least obeisance made he; not a minute stopped or stayed he;
But, with mien of purest candy, squatted on my chamber floor —
Perched upon a rug of Araby in the middle of my chamber floor —
Sat, then shat, and nothing more.

Then this ebon puppy beguiling my sad fancy into smiling,
By the sweet and stern decorum of the countenance it wore.
“Though thy crest be shorn and shaven, thou,” I said, “I’m please thou art no Raven,
Or a ghastly grim Cerberus wandering from the Nightly shore —
Tell me what thy lordly name is on the Night’s Plutonian shore!”
Quoth the Puppy, “Nevermore.”

Much I marvelled this ungainly pup to hear discourse so plainly,
Though its answer little meaning — little relevancy bore;
But I could not help agreeing that no living human being
Could prevent their heart from bleeding at Puppy gouging his chamber door —
Yea, incandescent with sentimental wisdom, like a poster on an office door,
Despite a name like “Nevermore.”

But the puppy, sitting dopey on the be’fouled rug, spoke only
That one word, as if his soul in that one word he did outpour.
Nothing further then he uttered — not his moist nose once he fluttered —
Till I scarcely more than muttered, “In too short a span the Nativity dawn —
On the morrow he will leave me, as my hopes have flown before.”
Then the Pup said, “Nevermore.”

But the Puppy still beguiling all my sad soul into smiling,
Straight I wheeled a cushioned seat in front of canine, and rug and floor;
Then upon the velvet sinking, I betook myself to linking
Fancy unto fancy, thinking upon satisfying rapacious Aunt Lenore —
With this cuddly, not-too chatty, somewhat smelly, hound Aunt Lenore
Would love me evermore.

“Prophet!” said I, “I am inspired! — Glossy animal pics never get tired! —
Especially when they are sent, with proverbial wisdom that appals,
In mystic banality undaunted, new-born, tiny doe-eyed beasts leave all enchanted —
Though they leave me by horror haunted! — Tell me truly, I implore —
Is there — is there a tome to assuage my needs — tell me — tell me, I implore!”
Quoth the Puppy, “Evermore.”

“Jesu!” sayeth He, “you get on my tits — so pretentious I’ve got the shits!
Creature Comfort should do the trick — full of jewels that make thee sick —
And pay attention, — this will slay em! –, among the furred and feathered humiliations,
On the page number’d twenty four, you’ll find me by a monkey being mauled —
My shade shall shed fur or other allergens on she the angel named Lenore,”
Quoth the Puppy, “Nevermore.”

“Be that word our sign in parting, hell-hound fiend,” I shrieked, upstarting —
“Get thee back into the storm, when you get chatty you’re a damn boor!
Leave no yellow stain to mark my literary standards broken!
Leave my shame to be unspoken — and will you quit clawing the door!
Take thy snout from thy ass — don’t look so sad! — and go through that door!”
Quoth the Puppy, “Nevermore.”

And the Puppy, never shifting, still is sitting, still is piddling
On the faded rung of Araby just inside my chamber door;
Aunt Lenore just thinks I’m darling, and that tome is ever-shaming,
But I’m still welcome, welcome to cast a shadow o’er her door;
But that rotten Puppy, from the Plutonian shadow, that lies snoring on the floor,
Shall be shifted — nevermore!