Trying to think of a sonnet. I’m on it.
A limerick. Perhaps a Haiku.
Some clever-ish prose, that thoughtfully shows
The feelings I have for Q.
You know it ain’t easy.
The task makes me queasy.
I’ve never been much of a poet.
But Jian Ghomeshi, is here in the fleshy
Let’s hope that I’m not gonna blow it.
“Well, hi there”, he says, as I’m driving to work.
“Happy Tuesday,” and yes, it will be one.
This guy has the awesomest job in the world
I don’t care if it’s even a re-run.
We speak about theatre, music and books.
About art and the freedom to make it.
We debate what is true, what is timeless and good,
And whether it’s okay to fake it.
You’re the Book Clubber’s hero, The writer’s groups’ crush.
You’re quick with the perfect-est question.
And then, when they answer, oh, my heart, be still –
a rarity now: you Listen!!
Oh, you put that Billy Bob right in his place
And you really had Michael Moore going.
From Mandy Patinka to Massive Attack.
The wit and the wisdom keep flowing.
You’ve interviewed rich, influential and smart.
The legend, the great-up-and-coming.
The brash and the censored, the funny, the shy,
Your theme song I’m constantly humming.
One day when my books get awards and gold stickers
And your people call mine to approve us
We’ll sit in that funky Q studio there,
And I’ll ask you about Moxy Fruvous.
