rather yours truly doth thrive
on keeping the ethos, mythos,
and pathos of Pigpen alive
subjected to eternal
abomination, brutalization,
condemnation, damnation,
emasculation, humiliation, ostracization,
who one day envisions himself
as a decrepit solitudinarian
an aging long haired baby boomer,

(I seriously contemplate donating
about a dozen inches of straggly hair
to locks of love, hoping
a stylist makes house calls -
since anticipatory anxiety
wracks these lovely bones
at the prospect
of setting foot inside a salon)
wherefore he might finally
cease to be a subject of derision,

but please do not chide,
a sexagenarian whose bruised ego
experienced more'n lifetime
worth of rejection,
whose first three plus decades
(approximately half my existence)
of mein kampf livingsocial I gingerly elide
where persona non grata of Charlie Brown
(essentially portrayed as a loser)
on his keister he did glide

cuz unkind behavior
demonstrated by Lucy Van Pelt
without fail always pulls away the football
disclosing her character,
who harbors spitefulness inside
earning her another point
of maliciousness notated
on the figurative blackboard,
when I chalked up and kreide.

The Peanuts gallery
populated pleasure reading
during mine boyhood
as well as the Little Engine that Could,
whose disposition evinced a solitary lad
never delinquent except one attempt
to get caught shoplifting a yoyo at Ames
Department store in Lansdale,
but other than that amazingly as all good
boys do fine.

Matter of fact quite few other comic strips
ranked as my favorite back when I read
the Philadelphia Inquirer Sunday edition
approximately two thirds
of threescore and three years ago
(approximately half life
of Matthew Scott Harris)
I cannot forget other comic strip titled
Andy Capp, Beetle Bailey,
Berkeley Breathed, Blondie,

Brenda Starr Reporter,
Calvin and Hobbes
Dennis the Menace, Dilbert,
The Far Side, For Better or For Worse,
Frank and Earnest,
Fred Basset, Garfield,
Hägar the Horrible,
Mutt and Jeff, Nancy, Pogo,
Shoe, The Family Circus, Tumbleweeds,
The Lockhorns,
The Wizard of Id, and Ziggy.

So many choices availed themselves
regarding how to while away
my leisure hours during
those fleeting twenties,
thirties, and forties of mine,
but yours truly (me)
frequently, easily, and decidedly
found contentment then and now
among the rank and file
of other not ready
for prime time players
soaking up newsworthy morsels
and if not reading aforementioned material
than appeasing the insatiable bookworm
holed up within corporeal complex edifice
housing these lovely bones
cerebrally feasting on a favorite genre
possibly fulfilling hunger
for historical fiction
or miscellaneous nonfiction.