MINISTERS

My friend the Comtesse, some say,

Owes her success to her intellect

Or her charm or to the fact

That she works next door to St. Brigid

All these help, as does the odd

Heaven-sent chocolate cookie

But mostly it's her guardian ninjas.

She was born in the very midst

Of the Great Guardian Angel strike

Which paralyzed the East Coast,

Convulsed the West Coast

Made the South Coast mad with grief

And convinced the North Coast

To quit and return to dental school.

Faced with this, her parents took

What measures they could.

They tenderly mailed her middle name

To Samarkand, lest some foe

Use it against her. (If you know how,

You can find it down by the docks

Dancing.) Her father and mother

Were, as we all were in those days,

Well acquainted with ninjas

Who used to parade down Fifth Avenue

On Mt. Fuji's birthday. (Everyone agreed

It would have been more impressive

If any of the marchers had been visible).

Fifty six dollars and a Captain Midnight

Decoder ring and whistle later

And the deal was done. All her piety and wit,

The cut and thrust of her conversation,

Even her ability to render herself insensible

Would go for naught but for benign assassins

Attending upon her every whim.