The Poetry Pandemic

When our whimsy
Starts to thicken
And our balladry
To sicken,
The problem is
Systemic.
IT’S THE POETRY
PANDEMIC!
A plague infects
Our pages.
There’s virus
In our verse.
Our vision
Draws derision
And our doggerel
A curse.
No iron in
Our irony,
Our thoughts are
Willy-nilly,
A eulogy
For euphony,
Our similes
Just silly.
Our metaphors
Are dinosaurs.
Our plagiarisms
Strut like whores.
Our lyrics die.
Our flights
Won’t fly.
Our Christmas cards
Make Jesus cry.
And science
Has no poet pills
When our
Imagination chills.
The meters
Teeter.
There’s no chime
In our rhyme.
Each villanelle
Is straight
From hell.
Our sonnets
Are a crime.
To quiet their
Unpleasant roars
They simply castrate
Bulls and boars.
Creatures so
Untutored
Deserve to be
Neutered.
So let our
Cacophonous chaos
Betray us.
Just spay us!
We lacerate
The language.
We deserve
The boos and mocks,
So you may as well
Just shoot us
Cuz we got
The poet pox.