From Whence, Fragment?

Elegy for M.C.

Originally posted on on 9 November 2008

In airports and on beaches, many people found delichton

His sci-fi-techno-anthro-socio-pulp-adventure wrichton.

His tautly-plotted novels made his readers’ knuckles whichton,

Their pulses pound like timpani, their sphincters swiftly tichton.

From businessbabes harassin’ men whose lust they aren’t requichton,

To senators a-stranglin’ and gigantic squids a-smichton;

From viruses infectin’ Earth and hairy Vikings fichton,

To gray gorillas killin’ and velociraptors bichton!

And other pagey-turners that were equally excichton!

That entertain and educate! That flabbergast and frichton!

And so we bid farewell to Michael Crichton,

Who’s gone go-gentle-into-that-good-nichton.

(Just don’t pronounce it Crickton.

It’s too constrictin’.)