Poetry Editors To Poets
 
Don’t send us dull pentameters;
That stuff’s for Keats and other amateurs.
 
Submit no rhyme, but heaven knows
We hate a poem that sounds like prose.            
 
Don’t send poems to “ Snob’s Review”;
You have to wait till they ask you.
 
Submitting verses simultaneously
Will make us hate you instantaneously.
 
And wait two years to re-submit,
Or find yourself in deepest– trouble.
 
No, make that three years, mon ami,
While we use your verse for origami.
 
Verse like greeting cards we pray you
Send to Hallmark —they might pay you,
 
Which we do not because we can’t;
We’ve twelve subscribers, and one’s my aunt.
 
And don’t send poems you find hilarious;
We’re grave - morticians try to bury us.
 
Don’t send at Christmas nor in spring —
And summers we’re vacationing.
 
So send, if send you must at all,
Your garbage to us in the fall.
 
But if you do, then do it soon;
We’ll be defunct come Friday noon.

(1998)

rhyme literary satire

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