The New Criterion

Evening, ladies; evening, gents;
    salute you by the dozen, embrace you by the score;
we’ve got things here worth fifteen cents
    and others worth a million more.
Get your numbers, don’t miss a chance
    to bear the rifle Captain Brown once bore
    or touch the lace that trimmed Miss Marilyn’s underpants.
When playing cards were bare on back
    folks filled ’em in as invites to the local square;
now here’s a photo that will pack
    your venue with a hundred cats who’ll dare
play the G-string on this human cello—
this ain’t the F-clef on a bowl of jello—
    Who’ll give me ten? Ten! Make it twenty.
Sixty. Eighty. A hundred! No argumenty
    from me ...

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