We all knew Homer Darby
was a loner asholectic
predisposed to sudden episotic bouts
of extreme hebitude...generally followed by
the associated boisterous bloviation of his asholism,
directed at all or no one but
his own surrounding air.

Those of us left who dared to care,
were alerted to these onerous onsets
by the devilish degree of disorder
of his alabaster hair.

Now those of us who cared to dare
suggested the curative redemption 
of a surgeons intervention.
Homer's reception was impeccably clear.
We needed only to see his steely glare
and a fugatious glimpse 
of that high-standing hair.

He continued to endure the asholectic bouts
with grand and pious pomposity...
now he lies there dead, as the surgeon said,
for want of a simple assholectomy.