Oh, did you hear?
L the poet died.
No, feigned mourning,
Fire up the laptop,
Gas up the time machine,
Dog-ear the Bible.
Sigh, They’re all dying
To the click-clack of the keyboard,
To the swipes of approval
In a Democracy everyone gets to Heaven.
Once there you can rate it:
0 being worst and 5 being best.
In an Oligarchy it’s pay-to-play.
We still get to write our review
But only from the vestibule,
And, of course, no one reads it.
Like L’s poetry.