To Betty Shapian, whose kindness and helpfulness have been unfailing


    I Just Make Them Up, See!


    I Just Make Them Up, See!


    Oh, Dr. A.-


    Oh, Dr. A.-


    There is something (don''t go ''way)


    That I''d like to hear you say.


    Though I''d rather die


    Than try


    To pry,


    The fact, you''ll find,


    Is that my mind


    Has evolved the jackpot question for today.


    I intend no cheap derision,


    So please answer with decision,


    And, discarding all your petty cautious fears,


    Tell the secret of your vision!


    How on earth


    Do you give birth


    To those crazy and impossible ideas?


    Is it indigestion


    And a question


    Of the nightmare that results?


    Of your eyeballs whirling,


    Twirling,


    Fingers curling


    And unfurling,


    While your blood beats maddened chimes


    As it keeps impassioned times


    With your thick, uneven pulse?


    Is it that, you think, or liquor


    That brings on the wildness quicker?


    For a teeny


    Weeny


    Dry martini


    May be just your private genie;


    Or perhaps those Tom and Jerries


    You will find the very


    Berries


    For inducing


    And unloosing


    That weird gimmick or that kicker;


    Or an awful


    Combination


    Of unlawful


    Stimulation,


    Marijuana plus tequila,


    That will give you just that feel o''


    Things a-clicking


    And unsticking


    As you start your cerebration


    To the crazy syncopation


    Of a brain a-tocking-ticking.


    Surely something, Dr. A.,


    Makes you fey And quite outr??.


    Since I read you with devotion,


    Won''t you give me just a notion


    Of that shrewdly pepped-up potion


    Out of which emerge your plots?


    That wild secret bubbly mixture


    That has made you such a fixture


    In most favored s. f. spots-


    Now, Dr. A., Don''t go away-


    Oh, Dr. A.-


    Oh, Dr. A-


    Rejection Slips


    a - Learned


    Dear Asimov, all mental laws


    Prove orthodoxy has its flaws.


    Consider that eclectic clause


    In Kant''s philosophy that gnaws


    With ceaseless anti-logic jaws


    At all outworn and useless saws


    That stick in modern mutant craws.


    So here''s your tale (with faint applause).


    The words above show ample cause.


    b - Gruff


    Dear Ike, I was prepared


    (And, boy, I really cared)


    To swallow almost anything you wrote.


    But, Ike, you''re just plain shot,


    Your writing''s gone to pot,


    There''s nothing left but hack and mental bloat.


    Take back this piece of junk;


    It smelled; it reeked; it stunk;


    Just glancing through it once was deadly rough.


    But Ike, boy, by and by,


    Just try another try. I need some yarns and, kid, I love your stuff.


    c - Kindly


    Dear Isaac, friend of mine,


    I thought your tale was fine.


    Just frightful-


    Ly delightful


    And with merits all a-shine.


    It meant a quite full


    Night, full,


    Friend, of tension


    Then relief


    And attended


    With full measure


    Of the pleasure


    Of suspended


    Disbelief.


    It is triteful,


    Scarcely rightful,


    Almost spiteful


    To declare


    That some tiny faults are there.


    Nothing much,


    Perhaps a touch,


    And over such


    You shouldn''t pine.


    So let me say


    Without delay,


    My pal, my friend,


    Your story''s end


    Has left me gay


    And joyfully composed.


    P. S.


    Oh, yes,


    I must confess


    (With some distress)


    Your story is regretfully enclosed.