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a few years back I joined a poetry website. Now, realize I’m not as esoteric and opaque as many modern poets prefer, apparently. I like Ogden Nash, Thurber, and well Dr. Seuss.

So, my poems rhyme.

Did you hear that zephyr of indrawn breath? Yeah, that would be the poets on that site. I was told, in no uncertain terms, that poems which rhyme are wrong, out of style, and an indication of my poor breeding.

You know what, though? Screw them. I like rhyming poems. Here’s one:

 

The ubiquitous “submit” button

by John Gregory Hancock

In fear and trepidation, I
cringe, as at each window fly
the web seems not a happy place
but servile hell, with leering face

No matter if I order stuff
or answer questions, in a huff
come joyous, sad or apathetic
I vow right now to be ascetic

So listen close, as I realize
independent thought I must surmize
quite soon will just evaporate
and leave us all as automates

The proof of plot so dark, insidious
the little toggle. God, it’s hideous
When I but respond upon the net,
I’ve no choice, can’t around it get.

Who are these fiends that ask of me
the last shred of my dignity
That harsh command the button sets
and orders souls like me “submit”

Submit to what?, I beg and plead
surely the internet has no need
of lives so dreary, grey as mine
from someone so bereft of time.

What religion this? Yet so perverse
as empty aether grinds its curse
and forces mice and men comply
stealing them of alibi

“Submit” and “resubmit” again
does this torture have no end?
the only worse, I give up ghost
pillored am I against the “post”

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