When Ray Moore takes the floor,
I will need to install a seat belt
on my frumpy television couch
as I cradle a bottle of whiskey
while I peruse a biography of Tchaikovsky
with memorable melodies leaping
in my ear as I struggle to hear
a wisp of threshold logic.
When Roy inveighs against evolution,
I’ll don my spiffy alien robot hat
constructed from a battered colander,
attempting to fill my head with wonder.