This is my twelfth and final poetry column.  I shall miss these monthly maunderings.  But will my voice be missed?  It seems I have developed such a small and furtive following in one year that if I spun about suddenly, I might think I was alone.  It's very sad.  Tragic, nearly . . .  Fooled ya!  This is not the last Poetic Reflections, no matter how unread I may be.  (What a relief!  I'm glad to hear it.  I almost tricked myself.)

Upon the success of my debut ENTERTAINMENT article (just kidding — but seriously, you should read it), I caved to unpopular demand in deciding to compose a sequel.  Or a string of sequels.  What could I possibly say to generate further lack of interest?  The solution is obvious:  I need to discuss what isn't Entertainment.  Like this article.  (Insert canned laughter.)  Okay, I'm being facetious.  The initial ENTERTAINMENT was well-received, and that's a lot to live up to.  I'm under a great deal of pressure.

The battle wages on across the big screen as I fatalistically record these words.  But while the dust settles and we the ragtag followers seek solace once more in the deeper searing gaze of the hero we have come to know and trust so well, we must realize with a bitter cry of anguish that she was taken from us — plucked out of our midst so abruptly, and not by the enemy, The Machines, but by our very own kind.