Beethoven, you’re no Cardi B. Look at you: scuffed up shoes.You ever heard of shampoo, drycleaning?
Look at Cardi’s outfit, a Pastoral Symphony of sunshine, every bulge aglow. toenails twinkling in the Moonlight.
Someone ought to write a Sonata.
They say you like to walk those country roads. I’ll bet Cardi has a Rolls Royce for every day of the week.
Mind she doesn’t run over you one day by mistake.
Ever see Cardi dance? You can barely two-step. Or maybe you want serious. Cardi does serious.
We used to call her Missa Solemnis then she got married.
You said you’d take fate by the throat. Cardi hangs gold chains around it. Or a diamond or two.
Plenty more where they came from.
And look at your love life. Pathetique the French would call it.
Our signora Appassionata could tell you stories but children might be listening.
Beethoven, cheer up. There’s Cardi Grosse-ing out on that Fugue of yours.
What a pair you would make, hand in hand, tripping down posterity lane.
BERNARD HOLLAND