On Being Yanked from a Favorite Anthology

To Bob Wiggins

Fame gave me a wrench and I cried Ouch!
That hurt! who used to use a silky touch,
Called me illustrious, caressed my name,
Made me an indispensable. Erato,
Patroness, how you fawned on me,
(Gave me the creeps sometimes) held me so high,
Incised me in the canon. I was fixed,
Part of the permanent collection, brightest star
In my constallation of five. Until
Some text-louse, pilpulistic Joycean cockroach,
Some antisemitic Jew reached for his rag
And zilched me out. Bitch-goddess!
Is this what we deserve
Who put you on the American map, you whore!