was ever writ for boys to read
than MAD -- that graphic jape sublime,
whose pages parents thought a crime.
A whoopee cushion on the trends
of Eisenhower times, from pens
that ruptured smugness like a bladder --
making music all the madder.
A boy who read its antic pages
knew that clowns were our true sages.
I may be a lousy rhymer,
but MAD was my New England Primer.
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