Canto CVIII

Charming infuriator til the end,
Hater of piffle, godly or otherwise,
Raconteur, rabble rouser, Rushdie’s friend,

I heard the news today of your demise,
Sank into a caffeine addled strop
To think that the fount of dry epiphanies,

Of withering put downs, patented Hitchslaps,
Papal pisstakes and Galloway grotesques
Had run dry. None can recreate your steps.

Every blasphemy was not in jest,
Rightly or wrongly, words still hit targets,
Holy Proofs shot full of holes and left

In tatters after you’d blown them to bits.
To be fair, I never agreed on Iraq,
Could see your point but couldn’t run with it,

However, when your viewpoints stood in stark
Exception to my own, your words still shone.
Now we can read your full body of work,

Savour each syllable, forget you’re gone.

Christopher Hitchens 13/4/1949—15/12/2011

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1 Comment (+add yours?)

  1. peter litton
    Aug 30, 2012 @ 00:07:01

    One less interesting outspoken person in the world.

    Reply

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