Dr. Hans Seuss,
the nuclear physicist,
kept getting Theodor Geisel’s mail.
They both lived in La Jolla,
so it wasn’t that preposterous.
But it still peeved the guy.
One fall afternoon,
while the old Austrian was reclining in his La-Z-Boy,
watching CHiPs,
and dipping pretzels in Salsa Con Queso,
there was a knock on his door.
It was Mr. Geisel
come for his fan letters.
The good doctor wiped some cheese from his lips,
and glowered at his namesake standing there on his stoop.
“I burned all of that garbage.
And I will continue to do so.
You are not a doctor.
I am a doctor.
Please remove yourself from my premises.”
Poor Theodor left without incident,
softly mumbling to himself,
“No former performer’s performed this performance,”
and went home to finish off his bottle of peach schnapps
and,
he hoped,
to write.
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