Ever forget what you were going to say?

Ah, yes, practice, practice

and we, too, might make it

to Carnegie Hall. It must be

said that our Great Innocent

has certainly seemed to have

prevailed in his battle with

stage fright, by the simple

expedient of reversing rôles,

excoriating his remarks with

his own voice. But now he ar-

rives at the netherest of in-

fernal gates, Capitol Hill, 

to emit such sounds all over

again. We had only one, lin-

gering reservation of anxiety

for him, born of occasional

distraction by multi-tasking -

but what was I going to say?

For, improvisation and the
Great Innocent are not the
most salubrious of combina-
tions. History has noticed.
He might have begged us, for
example, to stay tuned last
week for a crescendo of ven-
geance on the 9th Circuit's
ruling against his policing
farce, only to swerve off-
noggin with frettings about
his interlocutory magnitude.
He doesn't need a script, he 
he needs a valet de chambre. 

Ah, but seated just above
him, all will be provided.
Or, what's a Paul Ryan for,
if not to keep a guy on his
mark, to fulfill his part?
A delicate whisper, is all.

There'll be no forgetting
what to say, at taxcutting
time, no sweet idylls in
Crimea, while bankers lie
weeping in their chains.